Shadows and Scars
by Alice7
Summary: Severed bonds, shattered trust. Anger, confusion, resentment, terror, loneliness, pain, guilt. Two people struggle to cope after events rip their friendship apart, can there be forgiveness when some scars can never be healed?
1. Unravelling Memories

Well. This story is more overdue than British train, isn't it? Did everyone have a good summer? Mine involved working, sleeping and not much else, hence the really late story. Not to mention I've re-written the bare bones of the plot eight times and I still don't know how it's going to end. Hmm. I've tried a new approach to this story, there's first and third person perspectives plus past and present tenses that I hope aren't confusing, so opinions on this are extremely welcome. Someone asked me to cut out all my swearing, so I'll try not to use profanities (I love that word) anymore. Swearing is like my 4th favourite pastime so I want you to know this is extremely difficult and not fun. Pah.

There are a few questions that I've wanted answering all summer by Americans:

How _bad_ are you at cricket?! My god. It was hilarious. Finally there's a sport I can comprehensively state that England are better at than the U.S.A. Cracking!

When did Usher develop man boobs?

What's with the pre-pubescent singer you're torturing us with? That Jojo chick is like four.

Does American politics involve anything other than negative campaigning? Stop telling me the other guy's an idiot and tell me what you're going to do if you're elected.

If any of you happen to run into a Mr Malcolm Glazer, could you please hit him repeatedly with a shovel while rationally explaining that Manchester United is not for sale? That's not really a question, more of a request…

Anyway, make yourself comfortable, this is gonna be a bumpy ride.

**Title: Shadows and Scars**

**Summary: Severed bonds, shattered trust. Anger, confusion, resentment, terror, loneliness, pain, guilt. Two people struggle to cope after events rip their friendship apart, can there be forgiveness when some scars can never be healed?**

* * *

Chapter One: Unravelling Memories

Drums. Drums. Drums. All around.

Ear-splitting, hypnotic, never-ending.

Again. Again.

His head swirled uncomfortably.

Thud, thud.

Deafening.

Thud, thud.

Comforting, yet unbearable.

Thud, thud.

Ceaseless.

He was still alive while the drums still echoed in his ears.

The beat quickened.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Danger.

Move. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Move.

Open your eyes.

Run.

Electricity, like a bolt of lightning, shooting through his veins, tearing into every limb, a shrill screeching filling his eardrums until they almost burst. His spine arched in agony, his arms and legs flagging on the ground like lead. His mind raced horrendously, his temples burned and eyes throbbed. His pained cry only rang loudly around him, intensifying his suffering, but still he roared for mercy.

And then silence fell, the screams ceased and he collapsed into darkness.

* * *

I watch them. From the darkest corners of taverns I watch them. Alone and silent I watch them. Families dining together, laughing and talking. Friends stand near the bar, leaning their arms casually on the counter, their jugs of ale clattering against each other, toasting one another's good fortune and I sit and stare from my solitary table.

It is a voluntary isolation. Men have offered me drinks and ladies a friendly smile or a kind ear but I do not accept them. People quickly grow weary of loners and now perhaps the isolation is no longer voluntary. I have lingered in this place too long, the locals grow in suspicion and I in unease. They know my face, though different from what it was before; I cannot risk detection. I am too close.

The sideward glances and the whispers continue, they continue to think I cannot hear them, and I continue to listen. The hour grows late, guts continue to swell with alcohol, and I have no option but to leave if I want to avoid drawing unwanted attention from a drunk picking a fight. I cannot deny that I am afraid, I am a strong man but I dare not fight. A fight tends to stick in one's mind, for a while at least, and I do not want that.

This is now my home, as the lonely lands I passed through to get here were my home, and the strangers here are as close to family as I have now. I am a loner, a wanderer, whose family and past are nothing but a stubborn wound.

* * *

Sweat bubbled on his skin, streaming down his temples, oozing into his matted locks. His head tossed and turned, onto each side of the damp pillows, the clammy sheets clung to his skin uncomfortably. Low moaning escaped his parched lips and his veins bulged and swelled and muscles tensed, his chest rose and fell fast and hard. His fingernails dug into the cotton, leaving little black smears from the dirt ingrained in his pores, until finally his eyes snapped open, white glistening in the darkness. The warmth of the room stung his throat as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves.

He needed air.

Stumbling down the stairs, his bare feet thudded dully on the oak steps; he fumbled with the bolted door, his hands slick with sweat. With a loud bang, the heavy bolt moved and the door swung open, his full weight upon it, and he slumped to the ground. The stench of stale beer and ale soaked in the black earth invaded his nostrils, and his stomach, already in knots, lurched. His whole body shook, his back shimmered in the moonlight, faded scars darkened with the heat radiating from within. Tears of disbelief and confusion flooded his face, a whimper slipped from his swollen lips. The quiet street loomed above him, the buildings tall and narrow, leaning in over the dirt track road and he wondered if he had ever felt this alone. Breathing deeply, the cold air whistled down his throat, his lungs heaving but still his heart beat so fast it felt nothing more that a vibration in his chest.

He trembled, lip quivering and the anger that had been festering in his heart was replaced with sickening turmoil. Still his breathing refused to settle, and he continued to wheeze and snort frantically. A hand rested on his arched back, startling him into jumping to his feet. He stared at the man suspiciously, his eyes wide and wild, like an animal backed into a corner. The face blinked back at him, familiar and concerned.

"Young master, what is the matter? You look like death just passed through you. Are you ill?" He had a deep voice, as you would expect from someone of his stout build.

The words came to him slowly, distorted, as if he were underwater. "I am well, Butterbur, I am sorry to have woken you." He finally managed to mumble, staggering a few paces back.

Sweat continued to drizzle down his forehead, and his stomach seared with pain. Instinctively he rested his quaking hand across his belly, and immediately felt a hot crimson tide swallowing his fingers, seeping beneath his fingernails and into the cracks of his knuckles.

"Good gracious, you are injured!" The innkeeper spoke as softly as his gruff demeanour allowed, his shaggy brown mop of hair was greying at the sides, and his beard too was littered with flecks of silver. "I would get the closest thing to a healer we have in these parts but I sent him home hours ago nursing a belly full of ale."

"It- I am quite alright, I-I have just over-stretched myself." He murmured. "It is an old woun-" The words caught in his throat and trailed off, gazing down at it aimlessly, watching his clammy skin enveloped by blood, the smell of iron filled his nostrils, swirling in his head until everything went black.

* * *

His eyes fluttered open and the bright comforting daylight greeted him. The room slowly drew back into focus and three familiar figures gazed down at him, their elegant faces, lean and pale. His mouth, dry with a foul taste, curled into a relieved smile, a smile that was not returned, and an uneasy silence stifled them.

A sharp pain shot through him and he winced, and it all came rushing back.

"Do not try to move, Aragorn, you are still very weak."

Aragorn. He called him Aragorn. The only other time he had ever called him that was the day he told him his true identity. His name was Estel; at least it was here anyway. He tried to sit up but couldn't and slumped back onto the soft pillow.

"What's going on? Why can I not move?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, he watched his elven brothers look away, one toward the window, the other at his feet.

"It is for your own good."

The remoteness in his voice was what galled him the most. Galled was not the word though; galled is what he would say if he still had any pride. It hurt. It enraged him.

"My own good? How can strapping me to this bed like a prisoner be for my own good?" He spat, rage filling his body.

"For our own good then." He heard a voice say, who he supposed was one of his twin brothers.

"Why am I being held prisoner, what about him? He put me in this bed, he who put this hole in my gut with no remorse. Where is he?"

There was no reply.

* * *

His eyes flew open, a sudden pang of fear waking him from a feverish dream. Rising from the bed he lay on, he scanned the room, it was empty and unfamiliar, but he guessed he was still in the inn. For a moment he sat motionless, as if it were safer not to move, and he felt his heart beat in his chest, making his whole head throb uncomfortably. There was a soft glow at the small windows as the last moments of dusk lingered stubbornly, and other than the low embers of the fire, it was the only light in the room. He could hear the raucous laughter of the drinkers downstairs; it comforted him, confirming that he was still in the inn where he had lost consciousness.

Climbing off the bed, his bare feet sunk into the soft fur pelt, his still trembling hands slipped tentatively over his stomach, his fingers rubbed against the coarse but clean bandages wrapped around his torso. He smiled gratefully, yet a nervous twinge stayed within him and he quickly fumbled for his clothes.

"…I tell you, that lad in there is bein' hunted by them elves." A hushed whisper from the corridor stopped him in his tracks.

He moved quickly to the door, leaning in closely to the gap to hear the conversation more clearly.

"Don't be stupid, what would elves be wantin' with 'im?" Another voice rebutted.

"'Cause he's one of them Rangers, folk around here call 'im 'Strider', and they mix with all types, even elves. Why else would they be in the wilds around 'ere?" The voice was the unmistakable rumble of Butterbur, and his words turned Strider's blood cold.

He was known here now. Strider. A strange alias, and another name to add to his growing list. More importantly however, he was being tracked down, and quickly. He was not ready to be found. Before it was out of anger and confusion about his incarceration, now it was because he could not look them in the face. There was too much guilt, too many unanswered questions, too many fractured relationships. It was too big a task for him to take on. He had hurt too many people. Hurt was an understatement. As the memories surfaced each night, as frightening and horrific as they were, he was grateful for them.

And so he left. Waiting for the moon to rise, Strider sat alone at the window, watching in silence as had become his usual practise. The room did not look out onto the main street, but a side alley, giving him a reasonably easy exit out of the window. He left the money owed for the room and the little extra he could afford to thank them, and slipped silently out of the window, scaling easily down the timber clad walls. Pulling his hood over his head, he slinked down the lonely road, into the shadows of the night.

* * *

It is the only way. I have thought of nothing else this past week in the wilds and there is no other path to take. I am not ready to face them. I do not want to be in those cells, I have only been in there once and still the blood stains my hands. I deserve to be in there, I still cannot explain my actions, only tell you what they were but I should be rotting in that place. A real man would turn himself in, accept the consequences for his barbaric acts, but I am not a real man, I am still that scared little boy, too afraid to face life.

So here I stand, upon the edge of a cliff, staring down at the scurrying water, wondering whether the memory of me will disappear as quickly as the river gushed. What kind of memory of me will they hold? That snivelling wreck of a boy, the cocky arrogant youth who fell for someone he was so unworthy of, or the savage brute he was now? A wonderful array of choice.

I hope they do not remember me.

The slick smudge of mud and uprooted turf from my boot marks the slip. The remaining grass flattened by my falling body at the edge of the overhang. There are tears in my eyes as I descend, blood spatters and smears on the grey rock and dull green moss. There is a rocky bank at the bottom, only a foot or so wide, but enough for my limp body to smack into with a sickening thud before sliding silently into the cold wash of the Baranduin unconscious or already dead. And on that damp shore, a dark brownish crimson stain threatening to be lost to the river will confirm their fears, and the ring that sets me apart from other men lays among the loose stones, stained red, proof that it was I who did indeed fall and enough to end their search.

That is the plan at least. I climbed carefully down the rock face barefoot, my boots hanging around my shoulders, the route of my plummet carefully mapped in my head, the blood provided by a self inflicted wound. Like I said, there is no other way. I am not ready to die, nor do I want to spend my days being hunted. I need some time to think, away from everyone.

It is a coward's way out, but I am a coward, and it is all I can think to do.

I wander upstream along the narrow bank, my steps lighter than a feather, until I reach a safe crossing point and vanish into the Shire as dusk descends upon my lonely trek.

* * *

The sun sat high in the early afternoon sky, hidden behind the hazy blanket of wispy white clouds. The swift breeze whistled around them, sending their long ebony locks fluttering in all directions. Neither noticed as they rode on, silent and preoccupied, faces etched with sadness, but with keen, watchful eyes.

"Do you think it was wise to ride so far ahead of the others? He may still be in that town."

"Estel was spooked, he left the place he was nursed within hours of regaining consciousness, he has no intention of being found and so I think he fled Bree and got as far away as he could." He explained calmly and methodically.

"Elladan, what if he is too injured to travel this quickly?" His twin asked quietly.

The elf turned to meet his brother's worried gaze. "He climbed out of that window and down a wall with ease, I think he is able enough to hold this pace, especially if he is determined to evade us."

"Then why do we not just let him go?" Elrohir spoke softly, and his brother swore he heard a little pleading in his voice.

"Because of what he did, we need to know why-" He fell silent, his eye catching something in the distance.

With a quick gesture, both rode toward it quietly and dismounted about twenty feet away. The river rumbled more loudly with each step they took though they could see nothing of it apart from a clear drop, but both had their eyes fixed on the small campsite ahead. There was no shelter, but the ashes in the small fire clearing were still smouldering slightly, and so had not long been abandoned. Elladan knelt down, noticing something tucked behind a rock.

"It is Estel." The elf said grimly. "I recognise his shirt." He continued, turning to his silent brother.

"I think I know where he went." He murmured shakily. "Elladan…"

Rising to his feet, the bloodied and torn tunic still in his hand, he moved without a sound, his heart thudding nervously until he reached Elrohir, who was sitting on the overgrown grass. He peered down at the skid mark that the other twin was running his slender finger over, and then over the edge, where the dark stain still glared painfully. His stomach lurched, and his hand rested upon the soft head of his brother and pulled him to his thigh comfortingly.

"It might not be him."

"You just said it was."

"I know… we should take a better look before jumping to conclusions." Elladan whispered, and made his way down the side slowly, his elven agility making the task simple enough.

Standing on the bank in an uncomfortable hush, the brothers stared at the smudge of blood for a few moments, unblinking and unable to look away. The sky grew a little darker, the clouds thickening and greying, the wind gaining strength and a chill that made them both shiver sympathetically.

"There's a storm coming." Elrohir said quietly. "We should move on, find him before it hits. Estel will be injured and maybe unconscious-"

"He's dead, brother." The elf cut him off gravely. "No one would have survived this fall, it is over forty feet."

"Estel is strong, he has been in many scrapes and accidents and been fine, this is no different." His voice trembled and suddenly he began to sound like a young boy.

"He landed on hard rock, if that didn't kill him, then the weight of his pack would have dragged him underwater and he will have drown-" He paused, lip quivering, staring down at his feet.

Elrohir shook his head, and stepped forward, submerging his feet into the swelling waters that crashed along the rocks with increasing ferocity as the weather turned. "We cannot just assume that he is dead or even be sure it was he who fell." He hissed, though each word he spoke became more and more unintelligible as his emotions tipped over, and the tears rolled down his fair cheeks. "Estel?" He cried loudly, his voice carried in the wind and echoed around them.

Elladan said nothing, jaw locked solemnly as he tried his hardest not to break down like his sibling. His eyes flittered around their surroundings; there were a few scraggy plants struggling to survive, but it was mainly algae covered stones on a bed of grey and dull green that was the cliff disappearing beneath the river.

"Estel?"

He gazed at one spot for longer than he had the others, where a curious silvery grey glint had caught his eye until, finally, he took a small step and lent over and fingered it tentatively. Palming it, he straightened up and apprehensively opened his shaking hand, and ran his finger over the cold metal; the drying blood clung mockingly to his skin. Without a word, he approached his brother, who still stood in the water shouting into the distance, kissed him softly on the forehead and placed the ring in his hand, before slinking away watery eyed.

* * *

_This letter reaches you as our home lies in a state of mourning and sorrow. My father feels you should be told of this news, though Elladan and myself were hesitant because of the recent breakdown in relations between you and our young foster brother. I know much anger and hurt remains in your heart toward him, and we will never fully know what happened or why Estel acted the way he did, but I know that he always thought greatly of you. _

_Perhaps you will be unmoved and feel nothing more than relief at what we have to tell you, but hopefully there is still a part of you that remembers your brotherly bond that had been so strong this past decade. We believe that Estel has perished in a tragic fall. There is little more I can tell you, nor can I bear to continue, my heart is being shattered all over again. _

_I will write again soon, my friend._

He stared at the parchment silently for a moment, his gaze trailing slowly over the words, written with a trembling hand, smeared with the agonised tears of a grieving sibling. An illiterate man could tell you what was written. Scanning the short message once more, his fair hair stood uneasily on end and his breath caught in his throat. Yet no sadness came over him, shock perhaps, but he would not grieve. He simply wanted rid of the memory, of that shadow that seemed to hang over him.

No more.

The paper crumpled reluctantly in his hands and it drifted to the floor with a soft rustle.

"I care not." He mumbled irritably.

"Dinner is served, my Lord Legolas." An elf announced formally, startling the immortal prince.

"Thank you, I will be along shortly."

* * *

To be continued?

It's a bit bitty (great use of vocabulary I know) but they won't be so short and as many in the rest of the story. I would really appreciate some feedback because I'm rather nervous that it's a bit shit…


	2. A Lonely Heart

Alright, don't throw anything at me! I suck, I know. It's not my fault – my sister's addicted to killing her children on The Sims 2 and she's taken over the computer. It's quite alarming really; she's drowned them, burnt them to death and had them taken away by social services. Anyway, you don't care and I'm jittery from the 10th cup of tea today so I'll try and move on. Can I just say this first – you Americans! At what point did you think it was a good idea to make 'Saw'? I nearly pissed myself at the cinema (which isn't that uncommon in a south London cinema but whatever) I'm still sleeping with a cricket bat by my bed! Bah! Shark Tale on the other hand, was pants, although Crazy Joe will always have a place in my heart.

This is kind of a sequel to the other fics, though more stand alone I suppose. Same rules apply as before and I forgot to do a disclaimer before. It's not mine, by the way. This chapter is like the first, a little fractured, but next chapter promises a little chronological order, I promise. 

Oh, and I've changed the rating down to PG-13, R seems too strong right now, but if you think later chapters deserve it, tell me. 

* * *

Chapter Two: A Lonely Heart 

"You truly are the vainest elf I have ever met." He smirked. "I often wonder how you manage to tear yourself away from that looking glass!"

"It is quite easy actually, as long as I know there are enough puddles and slow moving streams on my path so that I can bask in my impeccable reflection at regular intervals, I can go for weeks without a mirror." Legolas grinned, running his slim fingers flamboyantly through his long hair. "At least I have some pride in my appearance, you on the other hand look as if you haven't seen water in months. We have only been away for a week, how did you get so filthy, Estel?"

The human scowled, touching his dark locks defensively. "I cannot help it if dirt just sticks to me, some of us are not blessed with natural cleanliness. Besides, it is as if the air itself is turning my skin black."

"You have a point, there is an unhealthy feel to this land. But it was you who wanted to explore these orc-ridden lands for no reason I can think of other than the guarantee that you are not the foulest smelling creature around." The blond elf laughed, looking sideward at his dishevelled companion.

Estel blinked at him a couple of times, lips pursed. "I smell as well, do I?"

Legolas snorted, and the pair fell into a relaxed silence, the seemingly unending smile that had began on the first day of Estel's visit, remained plastered on his ageless face. He looked toward the young human, who was gazing into the distance, his dark hair had lost some of its curl as he had grown older and his eyes had lost some of the sparkle that had shone so vividly on their first meeting. There were occasions however, when that glint made a secretive return; a quiet moment on watch or when he was alone at night and the moon stood proud and high in the inky depths of the night sky, he would stare up it with a distant smile, lost in his own thoughts. The elven prince had only witnessed this once, early in the summer before Estel's foster brothers had departed. He had found him lying on a low bough, legs hanging either side in the easy, offhand manner that so characterised the young human, one hand rested on his stomach, the other clasped a piece of gnarled bark loosely. Gazing up at the darkening blue sky, the clouds blushed pink from the slow setting sun, the warm glow lighting his maturing face with an unnatural grace, and with an unimaginable softness, a song escaped his full lips. Legolas had crept closer until he stood barely three feet away, yet he remained unnoticed, the young man's silvery eyes glazed over as if in a trance, the flashes of green and brown unearthed in his perfect solitude that had seemed buried by the anguish of his early years. There was contentment in his face that the fair elf had never seen, and for a moment he just watched, smiling. It wasn't long however until Estel felt his presence and sat up, cheeks burning and eyes a wall of grey stone.

It was a clear autumn day with only a feathery gathering of cloud on the horizon, yet the sun didn't beat down on their backs, instead it sat slumped in the pallid, watery blue sky, oozing a sickly and lifeless light that seemed to drain the energy from their bodies. Their surroundings were equally bleak, all around them stood dull weathered rocks, each one looked the same as the other and the stone hills were noiseless by day, but at night the screeches of orcs woke them from their sleep, their distant footsteps scurrying like insects, echoing around them made the companions uneasy.

"What are you thinking about?"

Legolas snapped out of his thoughts to look at his friend who was watching him, eyebrow cocked inquisitively. "What?"

The human smirked, his sparse beard hiding the dimples on his cheeks. "You have not spoken a word in almost an hour, what… or who is occupying your mind?"

He said nothing at first, staring intently at his young pal. "You." He said quietly.

"I knew it! I am very flattered, my friend, but as irresistible as this face is, you will have to fight your urges; I am afraid you are too blond for me." He chuckled.

"Too blond? What on earth does that mean?" The elf laughed, looking at his long tresses curiously.

"I'm not sure, I made it up to ward off your advances."

"Well it worked." Legolas sniffed. "I could have given you the world, but you threw it back in my face!"

They both giggled, shaking their heads until they fell back into a hush.

"Seriously…" The fair being began. "You seem happier than I expected. I'm glad."

"I am. I never thought I would make it to this age, let alone have a smile on my face. Or a beard." Estel replied with a slight chortle.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a beard… more like a badly skinned animal."

"Charming."

"I know."

They laughed again, but it was muted and slightly put on, both more than a little uncomfortable.

"My dreams have been revisiting painful experiences these past few nights, and many a time over the summer months." The elf stated softly.

"I would confess that mine have been the same. It is strange; it had not entered my head in half a decade until now." He murmured after a few moments of strained silence.

"You had not thought of it once in all that time?"

His lips curled into a slight smile. "No. It consumed me for too long, so I pushed it out of my mind." The human's smirk disappeared. "I think the trees of Mirkwood have rekindled lost memories."

Legolas looked to his companion but their eyes did not meet. The wind grew a little stronger, rushing between the grey peaks with increasing fervour.

"On the morning of our departure, I walked deeper into the forest than I had ever done before. I sat there, staring at the trees, the earth was damp and the scent surrounded me and suddenly I was there again. I could feel his rough hands on my sore body, the cold air on my skin when he ripped my clothes, the sound of his voice rang in my ears." Estel pushed his hair back out his face, running his hand over his stubbly chin. "It was so real. I could feel his hot panting on my neck; smell the staleness of his breath, the taste of his mouth. Ale, bacon, blood. I think the blood was mine. When I finally snapped out of it, I was crying and shaking and half the day had gone."

"I have no words for you, I never have." The elf murmured.

"I never understood why they chose us. But now I know, it was because of who I am, wasn't it?"

The Mirkwood prince nodded sorrowfully.

"You knew of my identity back then, didn't you?" The human asked. "When did you find out?"

"When you were attacked by the wargs. I had left Rivendell stricken with guilt but Mithrandir tracked me down; I hadn't gone far. I asked him and he reluctantly confessed and my guilt tripled. Then you lied for me." He smiled fondly. "And I realised humans were not all the same, I will never forget the kindness you showed me that day."

* * *

The drums were beating again, the same rhythm as before. 

Thud, thud,

Thud, thud.

It was so loud that he was afraid his head might explode. He lay curled up in a foetal position, his hands clamped over his ears. The ground was wet and painfully cold but the air felt so stifling that it was burning his body, and sweat streamed down his skin in slick rivers that dripped against the rock, the soft taps like great rumbles of thunder. His eyes fluttered open tentatively with the slightest movement sending ripples of sharp stabbing agony flooding his mind, his throat sore with an unbearable dryness and his frightened whimper sounded more like the low rasp of a snake. Rolling wearily onto his back, the icy floor bit at his feverish body, his eyes slowly got used to the low light supplied by a single lit torch that created more shadows than it did clarity.

He laid there for a few moments, naked and vulnerable, his head swirling and body shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly, the drums ceased and his head began to clear, the pain easing a little, and he was able to climb unsteadily to his feet, his back hunched as he struggled to see in the gloom. There were two unlit passages on opposite sides of the large alcove, both as foul smelling as each other; he recognised the odour as orcs, which only served to heighten his fear.

Opting for the quieter tunnel, he staggered on in the darkness, frequently tripping on the uneven ground and grazing his knees and calves until he could feel the hot trickle of blood on his legs spreading down his feet where it stung his numb toes. The total blackness slowed his progress down to tiny steps, his hands fumbling against the wall, the dirt caking on his clammy palms and nestling under his fingernails, the temperature seemed to rise and fall, from intolerably hot to insufferably cold, but he wasn't sure if that was just his imagination. He plodded on for what felt like days, blind and disorientated, his legs wobbling, seemingly sapped of all energy and muscle until they finally crumpled from underneath him and he slumped to the hard floor with a thud. Heaving at the stale air, his heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath, he wiped his face with his hands, unwittingly smearing his skin with black grime, his fingers rubbing his throbbing temples under the sweat drenched locks that sat on the top of his head in a mass of dirty tangles. Listening nervously to the scratching and voices that seemed to come from all directions now, the frustration and anxiety seemed to swell and bubble, his lip quivering and a tear rolled down his cheek, carving a path through the soot before plummeting down to his chest.

It was a sickening sense of helplessness. Lost, unarmed, alone and exhausted. He hadn't a clue of where he was or how he had got here, except for a lump on the back of his head that he hadn't noticed before. Rising back to his feet, he moved forward cautiously, this time trying to be as quiet as possible, wary of the noises that were growing louder around him. He crept on, following the twists and turns of the carved passages, and with relief, he seemed to have passed under or over or by whoever or whatever was scraping and whispering, the path now silent and growing a little warmer. There was a glimmer of light now and he could just about make out what was in front of him, and as he moved faster, the light gradually became brighter until he saw an end to the tunnel, though it was not daylight, he made his way toward it with an apprehensive hope.

Under the cover of the shadows, he peered into the hushed cave-like opening cautiously, squinting, he studied his surroundings until a sick realisation took over him, his heart sinking. It was the same place he had woken in. He'd spent hour after hour shuffling in the darkness, bleeding and shattered, to be met with this. His swollen lips trembling with an infuriated disappointment and rage and dread and panic, he stepped forward, fists clenched, into the dim recess, a dark stain on the ground marked where he had been and he stood there, unsure of what to do.

"He's a pretty thing."

He spun around, his heart thudding. "Who's there?"

"I will enjoy this one."

He knew that voice. It wasn't possible. Trembling from head to toe, he stumbled backwards, glancing around fearfully. Where was that voice coming from? He couldn't work it out. Grabbing the torch from the wall, he swung it round wildly, lighting up the shadows but to no avail. There was no one there. Perhaps it was his imagination? It had fallen back into a deafening hush, but his heart drummed so hard in his chest it made his whole body pound with it. He knew that voice. Those were the first words he ever said to him.

"He's a pretty thing." The voice suddenly repeated, making him jump.

"Who is that?" He cried angrily. "Show yourself!"

"Little Estel…" The voice sighed in the same unnerving melodic tone.

"Stop!" The human yelled. "Speak not!"

His head began to spin and a shrill ringing filled his ears, so loud that he became so dizzy that he could no longer stand, crumpling to the ground helplessly, the torch in his hand fell out of his grasp and burnt his wrist before rolling away. His pained screams died down after an hour or so and were replaced with a low, pathetic sobbing; his face a flood of involuntary and unwelcome tears. His slim but muscular body, still a little gangly and self-conscious, shook miserably and was plagued with goose pimples in the sudden chill. The young man's eyes were clamped shut but he was not asleep or unconscious, rather a state of enforced paralysis.

Drums, drums, drums.

Voices whispering, goading, chanting, cursing, hissing, evoking memories and fears, stirring anger and hatred.

He would not listen.

Again, again they spoke, filling his mind.

He would not listen.

"He is strong, but he will break."

* * *

The late afternoon sun shifts hazily in the dull sky, and a cool breeze flutters through the orange leaves that still cling to the trees. Autumn has drawn in on me too quickly, the sun sets too early, sucking the scarce warmth left in the air and leaving me cold and alone. I have moved too fast, faster than my body could stand and now I'm struggling to stay on my feet longer than an hour. Not that I have anywhere to go. I wander west, off-road, in what seems like an empty land; I have not seen a soul since Bree. It was a blessing at first, but now I fear it will be the death of me. I have not eaten for a few days and I can feel my strength ebbing away, the wound on my stomach seems determined to end my life no matter how many times it is treated. 

The pain is beyond belief. Occasionally, when I find a stream, I sit in the freezing water, letting the current wash the infection and the dry blood away. I watch the water darken and disappear from view as it moves downstream, I remain motionless until the agony of this process grows too much and I wrench myself out and lay panting on the shore, shivering and numb. My head throbs though, the vein in my forehead bulges and beads of sweat form at my temples in an uncomfortable contrast to my icy limbs.

I walk on, my pace laborious and slow, the grass crunching beneath my heavy footfalls, my feather light step has long since abandoned me and I feel as if I am as inconspicuous as a cave-troll at a tea party. I do not want to be inconspicuous. I need to be found. I cannot keep running on nothing but adrenaline. This is probably the first time I have wanted to make my presence known when travelling. It is also probably the first time I have not run into anyone when travelling. The solitude has given me time to think more clearly, but I find myself running out of things to talk about and subject of my appearance has long since grown thin. My beard is growing into a pathetic straggly thing, and I suppose I must look rascally and sinister with my mud stained cloak, greasy locks and hunched back. There is nothing else to say and I am sick of my own company.

The hour grows late and the sun sinks lower, the shadows grow longer and like the day, my energy is almost spent. I find a slightly enclosed spot, surround with a few trees and bushes and light a small fire. I watch the sky grow darker, shivering and hungry as my eyes grow heavier and I can do little to stop myself falling into another unhappy slumber. I battle my exhaustion for little other reason other than to show myself that I still have some power over my body. A song comes to my mind to lift the gloom and I murmur it, still wary of being caught singing this verse.

_Tinúviel elvanui_

_Elleth alfirin edhelhael_

_O hon ring finnil fuinui_

_A renc gelebrin thiliol…_

I cannot stop a smile creeping across my face but my heart twinges with sadness.

This is no life.

* * *

Thank you for the positive feedback! 

Cosmic Castaway – I broke my cricket coach's nose when I was ten (with a fabulous drive I might add) so I know what you mean. Usher does have man boobs, not in the traditional sense (ie Morpheus) but they're so round and well defined, it's scary. I hate negative campaigning, I vote Lib Dems cos they at least attempt making some policies. Btw, Glazer owns the Tampa Bay baseball thingys and is a hate figure for 80 million United fans.

Christina – Thanks, I was aiming for that reaction!

Catmint – Aw gosh, you're sweet for a Burnley fan. Is Luke Chadwick still there btw? I'm not doing English cricket down at all, they're a joy to watch, esp Freddie and Vaughany Vaughany. Slurp. I avoid trains like the plague, which is thankfully easy in London.

Trustingfriendship – It's becoming clear to me that the U.K were the only ones to be subjected to this JoJo brat. Bah. Vote. Even if it's as farcical as 2000, please vote, for the sake of world. How melodramatic am I?!

Springfairy – You're English is better than mine! I know one useless phrase in German: Ich haber ein gross braun hunt. I hope I spelt that right! This is Aragorn angst, I'm a total sucker for those stories too!

Luinthien – I like you. You're a total ego boost. Virtual chocolate and flowers to you!

Grumpy – Ello again, mate. Two weeks of Bush v Kerry to go, I say they should strip and mud wrestle and decide the election that way… wouldn't that just be the most unsexy thing you could ever imagine?

Leggylover03 – You actually have more cricket clubs than us, but that's a rubbish statistic. Usher has lady boobs then – Confessions II video, the man needs a bra! I don't know who Jojo is! The US clearly wouldn't have her and so she got dumped here. Boo.

Singing Wolf – Clarity will come eventually. Think 'Handmaid's Tale' rather than Donnie Darko. I've never seen DD so that's a rubbish example, sorry.

Tmelange – Sorry, I'm sure it's annoying but the only contact I get with Americans are the ones who cut me off mid-sentence to say "Oh my God! Your accent is soo adorable!" It wears thin.

Darkphoenix4 – Um, Glazer would destroy Man United and that would end a lot of TV soccer deals etc so I doubt you'd get more coverage in the US I'm afraid. If you want a good soccer game, try and catch United v Arsenal this Sunday, it'll be a blinder. Have I given you nightmares? That would be fun, Meheheh.

Viggomaniac – Okay, I have no idea what a C2 list is, but because of the subject content, I'm reluctant to bump it down to a PG-13 even if it isn't graphic. Very flattering though, thank you.

Dinky – You think I'm afraid of a pencil? I am, but only in person. You can't touch me, neurgh!


	3. A Curious Meeting

Okay, writer's block is the complete shits. I don't even know when I last updated, but I am very sorry. It isn't out of laziness, and I'm as pissed as you probably all are, so hopefully the next chapter will come far more easily to me. I released this story too early, it was stupid of me. This chapter's not brilliant but it's finished and that's all that matters now!

Chapter Three: A Curious Meeting

* * *

It was quiet. The grey nothingness of the mountains lay still and murky as he looked anxiously around him. The sun was peeping from behind the tall peaks, yet the sky, which was cloudless, seemed unusually dim, with no faint stars still lingering even in the farthest reaches of the westerly heavens.

"Estel?" He called lowly.

There was no reply and he cried again, louder this time but he was there was no response once more.

"Where are you?" He muttered irritably under his breath.

Packing up their belongings and putting out the struggling embers of their campfire, he sat and waited for his friend to return. His head filled with what he was going to say and how he would say it, whether it would be a quiet, almost fatherly warning to stay with him, or an angry word about his irresponsibility or to perhaps say nothing at all.

The sun had risen above the dull mountains but there was still no sign of him. Anger had evolved into worry, and he strode up a few feet of rock face for a better view of the desolate landscape. He stood for several minutes, studying every inch of land in sight, but there was nothing. He had grown used to the barrenness of the Grey Mountains, but there was nothing to see here. Nothing. Not a shadow. Not one movement. The swirling wind that had hounded the pair since they'd reached here had disappeared and the air was oddly stagnant, stale almost. The stone hills were silent, but that was not unusual, but now that he thought of it, the night before was strangely quiet, as if the orcs had deserted their dark warrens. Returning to the campsite, Legolas kneeled down beside the spot Estel had kept watch from, the ground was a bed of tiny loose pebbles and tracks were easy to spot and impossible not to make. But there were no tracks leading away. No signs of a struggle. No attempt to cover any footprints up. The elf frowned and rose to his feet, and called out his friend's name again.

"You cannot simply vanish into thin air." He murmured to himself. "Even you, Estel."

The day fell into darkness in what felt like mere seconds to the Mirkwood elf, and he walked alone in the mist, his blue eyes darting around cautiously for any sign of his lost friend. But still there was nothing to see or hear, nothing but an uneasy feeling that made the hair on the back his fair neck stand on end. It was bitter tonight, colder than any other night so far. The ground glistened with frost, his breath fogging brightly in the air and he shivered. Legolas stopped. He shivered. He could feel the cold. It was impossible but his hands were trembling, his teeth chattering uncontrollably and toes numb.

Dawn came and went, and night came and went and he could not find Estel, or anyone. Three or four uneventful days swiftly went by, and the fair elf slumped to the ground, exhausted and frightened. This place is unnatural, he muttered to himself. His worry for Estel's well being had increased and fallen into a sad numbness. He could find no tears, but his heart broke at his growing belief that his companion was dead. Twenty-two years old, still a child, dead for a needless adventure.

* * *

Dusk drew in quickly, the red sun sinking behind the Blue Mountains in the far distance. Strider slept uncomfortably, propped against a tall tree, the trunk thick, coarse and cool, stood proudly as the branches looked down over him, swaying gently as if singing a silent lullaby. It was a dark night, the moon a lacklustre sliver of ivory seemingly overwhelmed by the vast inky black pool of sky, there were a few clouds dotted about, drifting aimlessly until the morning sunlight came and burned them away. The wind was soft but the surrounding hills created the occasional stronger swirl that sent leaves fluttering down from the trees, and the small fire that warmed his feet flickered and crackled. He stirred occasionally from his slumber when his stomach throbbed, robbing him of his dreams, but quickly slipped away again, oblivious to the sound of footsteps nearby. He muttered in his sleep, his words a confused mixture of Elvish and the common tongue that occasionally rose to loud cries.

The ground was awash with leaves, scattered across the wilds like fallen soldiers on a battlefield, blood red in the eerie glow of the stars; a scene of carnage that never happened. His heavy breathing seemed to echo around the vast landscape, strained and at times wheezy. The footsteps were light and careful, with only the occasional crumpled leaf or snapped twig to disturb the silence. They were not far from the sleeping human, edging closer inch by inch cautiously until they stood barely a foot away from Strider's face.

His eyes flew open, pulling out a knife. Squinting out into the darkness, he rose to his feet gingerly, but there was no one in sight. He stood motionless, the fire lighting the whites of his eyes menacingly, his sword reflected the golden flames as he listened out for any signs of life. A soft crunch from the undergrowth sent him spinning around, and although he was sure he had heard a voice of some sort, he could see no one.

"Who's there?" He asked gruffly.

There was no answer, and for a moment it felt like the whole of Middle Earth was soundless. His grey eyes shifted around edgily, he studied his surrounding so carefully he knew where each blade of grass stood, but there was no sign of anyone. Strider's stomach ached painfully and his head reeled as he stood on guard, his injury beginning to really limit his movement. There was another rustle to his side and he turned sharply, sending a tide of agony shooting up his body, and he slumped to one knee. He growled at his immobility, his breathing laboured as he struggled back to his feet.

"I can hear you and I do not take kindly to games." The human snarled, pulling a burning log from the fire.

The soft footsteps and occasional rustles continued, and the young man grew more nervous and agitated at this unseen company. His breathing grew more strained as his anxiety rose until it seemed so loud that he could hear nothing else but his exhausted lungs. His lungs were not the only exhausted part of his body, his limbs ached and throbbed and his eyes struggled to stay open, his long sword shaking in his grasp.

"Legolas? If that is you, show yourself and I will drop my weapon." He murmured softly in Elvish.

Holding his breath, Strider listened for some kind of response. Silence greeted him at first, but then another set of footfalls at an impossibly short distance padded to his left, and he turned his head quickly enough to see the leaves of a low bush disturbed. The Ranger shot toward it, and pulled the plant so hard that a few limbs snapped loudly, he towered over the body on the cold ground, and used his sword to turn him onto his back. Peering in the darkness at the cowering figure, he lowered his blade, and a slight, almost relieved smile crept across his face.

"I know your face." He acknowledged gently. "Bilbo Baggins, I believe?"

The small man opened his eyes, eyeing Strider suspiciously. "Who's asking?" His voice shook as he unsuccessfully attempted to sound unafraid, his hands pawed purposefully at the mangled, untamed grass.

He cocked an eyebrow, unsure of how to reply. "I am a ranger of the north, Strider is my name."

"Strider? That is an odd name, unfitting for one of the Dúnedain. For that is who the wandering folk are; men of the west, are they not?" Bilbo said with a sudden found confidence.

"You know your history, Master Hobbit, but Strider is the only name I will give." The human spoke with a stern humour, and returned to where he had been sitting before.

"Then I shall call you Dúnadan." He laughed, plonking himself down in front of the fire, warming his hands vigorously. "And how do you know my name?"

"Your reputation precedes you, I doubt there is a soul on Middle Earth that has not heard about your adventure with the dwarves."

"You exaggerate, surely?"

Strider laughed. "Perhaps, but anyone who has spoken with Gandalf the Grey this past decade has heard your tale."

The halfling looked up at him, his face lit by the warm fire, his keen eyes twinkling. "If you seek Gandalf, then I parted company with him not two hours ago."

"Gandalf is here in the Shire?"

"He left for the House of Elrond in Rivendell; a letter arrived for him this morning. Bad news, I think; a face like thunder he had."

He stirred uncomfortably and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "It is just as well that I am not seeking the wizard then."

"Then what brings you to these parts?"

"A wanderer wanders where the wind takes him." The human replied softly, grimacing.

Bilbo watched him for a moment, frowning at the young ranger. "As skilled as I am at riddles, I must admit to growing tired of them; Gandalf speaks in them so often that I wonder he remembers how to talk normally anymore."

Strider cackled, rubbing his unimpressive beard as he carefully tried to conceal his growing pain. "It is late, Master Baggins, the wilds are dangerous, especially at night, should you not head home?"

"If you will join me, young Dúnadan." He spoke in a soft, fatherly voice that rekindled memories of childhood. "I would enjoy the company; I've no wife or children to speak of, and a significant portion of my relations are impatiently waiting for my death." He continued, laughing at his own words.

"It is kind to ask, but this is a journey I am taking alone."

The slight figure rose to his feet, his face a picture of concern. "Are you heading anywhere on urgent duty?"

He glanced up at the hobbit with a small smile on his face. "I don't know."

"Well, then you must make your decision in the comfort a warm home with a full gut. Besides, now that Gandalf has rushed off, I have lost my teacher, you would do me a great service if you would help me."

"Then I could not refuse, lead the way."

The walk was slow, cumbersome at times as the gangly young man attempted to hide his injury and increasing immobility from Bilbo. Conversation flowed in a steady stream, the hobbit relishing his rare opportunities to discuss matters not concerning the Shire, while Strider was simply grateful for someone to talk to. An hour or so went by, before the halfling suddenly ground to a halt, much to his companion's relief, who had taken a turn for the worst during this unexpected trek. Propping himself against a tree trunk, he attempted to catch his breath, his shaking hands rested on his stomach protectively as a tide of sweat rolled down his brow.

Watching him with a faced etched with worry, Bilbo waited patiently, pretending to be as worn out as the injured man. "It is not far now, I could go on ahead and prepare your bed and some dinner, if you'd like?"

Strider opened his eyes, which had been closed for more than twenty minutes, and peered sideward at the kind-faced hobbit for a moment before reluctantly nodding. "Thank you, Master Baggins, I'm afraid my legs have lost their strength tonight. I will follow on as soon as I can, but please do not go to any trouble making food at this time of night."

"Nonsense, I have not yet had dinner myself, it is no trouble at all. You remember the way I told you? Bag End: Green door, under the hill."

"I remember. You are very kind, thank you." He replied softly, with a small, thankful smile.

The smaller being nodded graciously, taking a few steps toward the wounded man. "You will be alright? I do not want to leave you if-"

"I will be fine, I just need a moment to find my legs once more. It is an infection that will go with rest."

Strider sat alone on the cool grass beside the path, his legs sprawled in front of him in a very ungraceful manner, dozing quietly with his thick coat wrapped tightly around his trembling body. It had grown colder in the past hour and the wind had picked up, gusting viciously, sending leaves into spirals that cascaded down the dirt track. Waking with a start, he rose to his feet quickly and looked to the moon anxiously; it stood a little higher in the sky, and he was cross with himself to realise that nearly two hours had gone by. The trees towered proudly around him, dark and tall but strangely welcoming, and he took a few steps down the road, pausing in the same spot as Bilbo had before they had parted. There were a few steps, carved into the hillside that led down to another path, and the view beyond it took his breath away. Skipping down the steps, for he suddenly felt some of the energy he possessed less than a year before, he looked down at the small dwellings of Hobbiton. It was quiet and still, but even in the faint autumn moonlight, the land was a luscious green that raised his spirits and brought a smile to his scruffy face.

He strode down the lane at a comfortable pace, stopping occasionally to marvel at the beauty of the hobbit-holes. The round windows were dim, the occasional one lit with a candle and chimneys smoked sleepily, and he continued on until he reached what he hoped was Bag End. A warm glow shone through the portholes, lighting the front garden that was full of bright and cheerful flowers, as if the autumn chill had not reached this part of the world. Pushing open the gate as quietly as he could, he made his way to the handsome green door, which seemed larger than it actually was as he rapped his knuckles against it softly. Straightening up, Strider ran his hand over the curved timber and up into the long cool grass than hung wildly over the house, his grin grew wider the more he saw, until the door suddenly swung open and his small friend leapt out.

"I've been dreadfully worried, I was about to go out and look for you." He hissed anxiously.

"I am sorry, Master Baggins, I dozed off and then the beauty of this place slowed my tracks." He replied earnestly. "I did not imagine there could be a place that matched the magnificence and homeliness of Imladris, but I believe I have found it."

"Yes, yes, a delightful sight it is, but no match for the splendour of the elves." The hobbit smiled. "Come in to the warmth and have some supper."

The young human ducked and took a few steps into the small dwelling, the inviting smell of baked bread filling his nostrils. Glancing around, his broad beam remained plastered to his face and he tentatively removed his weather-beaten coat, before following Bilbo to the table, where a feast was waiting. They ate fervently until there was no more in front of them and they sat with bursting bellies, leaning wearily into their chairs as they nursed their third or fourth cup of steaming tea. The fire was low but warm and gave Strider's cheeks a rosy glow that seemed to take years off his tender age, as his new companion peered at him carefully.

"Are you sure we have not met before? You're face is awfully familiar." Bilbo asked.

"I am quite sure, Master Hobbit, unless you have been exploring the north these past decades."

Bilbo shifted in his seat and took a sip from his mug. "Perhaps you just have one of those faces." He smiled. "I will bid you goodnight, young Dúnadan. I've set up that bedroom there for you and I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Bilbo, and thank you."

* * *

Rubbish, innit? Hopefully the next chapter will go better, campers. 


	4. Questions and Decisions

Well. It has been too long. Sorry. That's all I can say. Timing hasn't been at its best during this story; first the rush of Christmas, then I had exams for the majority of January, followed by the distraction of my sister going off travelling in New Zealand ('twas in 'Rivendell' yesterday. Me, jealous? Hah.) Then I managed to acquire the flu, which I'm only just recovering from, and on top of that – writers block is still rearing its ugly head at regular intervals. 

So how is everyone? Good Christmas?

Has anyone seen Ocean's 12? I can't decide whether to see it – everyone seems to be slating it and I don't want to waste £7 like I did with White Noise. Still trying to recover from the awfulness of that film. Oh, and can someone explain American Football to me? I tried to watch the superbowl and I didn't have a clue what was going on. Why were there so many adverts? Who won? The bird ones or the other lot? I thought it was rugby with helmets and pads but it apparently isn't. hmm…

Anyway, chapter five should come much faster, I think I've conquered the block, so fingers crossed.

* * *

Chapter Four: Questions and Decisions

Thud, Thud. Thud, Thud.

Sickly screams and scarlet streams from savage schemes.

Make him stop.

Punching. Kicking. Beating. Choking.

Stop.

Blood smeared on hands, hot and sticky.

He wants to kill me.

Bruises, purple and angry, staring at me.

I do not want to die.

Make him stop.

* * *

His eyes flashed open and were blinded by the sunlight, and his heart thumped as his body became awash with panic. Strider tried to move his arms but couldn't and a strained, panicked whimper escaped his parched lips, he thrashed about, white sheets flying over his head, his lungs heaving with rasping gulps of air. Not again. He heard the door open and he froze, watching the shadow grow over his fabric shield, until it was lifted gently.

"Bit tangled up there, Dúnadan?" Bilbo remarked with a friendly smile. "Not surprised mind you, you have been tossing and turning for days."

He unravelled the tightly wound cloth from the human's arms and fluffed up the overstuffed pillows so he could sit up in bed comfortably.

"Days?" Strider asked, his voice low and scratchy.

"Three to be exact, four if you count today, but it's not yet midday. You've been in a terrible state, your fever was so high that I thought your hair might catch fire!" The hobbit laughed and handed him a large mug of tea. "You were terribly delirious; I confess to being quite frightened by you at times."

The young man looked up at his friend with his eyes bloodshot and sunken, he grimaced. "I am truly sorry, Bilbo, I would never want to scare you."

"Do not trouble yourself, it was the sound of your nightmares that worried me, you spoke about such grave things."

"Many ill memories have been rekindled of late, some I wish would remain buried." He replied solemnly. "I am sorry if I have burdened you-"

"Stop it, I just wish I had been more helpful, all I have done is tried to keep your temperature down… oh and you kept asking for this, I hope it is the right thing." He handed the human a small pouch, which he opened and smiled.

"Athelas?"

Bilbo nodded. "It took me a day to translate it and another to persuade my gardener of my need for it; a weed he called it, 'no use to anyone' but I knew that if one of the Dúnedain wanted it, then it must have some use."

"It does, Bilbo, though its virtues are unknown to most these days. It has healing properties that will aid me greatly, thank you."

The hobbit smiled, and turned to leave. "You're welcome, if you're feeling well enough, there is breakfast on the table."

"I think I will in a moment." Strider said quietly, pushing his usual stray lock of dark hair out of his face.

"Good, good." The smaller figure muttered. "Oh, and should I call you Dúnadan, or would you prefer Estel?"

The young human stopped everything he was doing, and looked to his host, silent and wide-eyed. "Estel?" He questioned unconvincingly.

"Your feverish ramblings gave it away, I am afraid. I knew there was something familiar about your face, you forget how fast people grow." He laughed.

"Master Baggins," The human began in a firm tone. "My identity is a guarded secret, it is important that you never use that name, in any capacity, to anyone, no matter how trusted they are. Gandalf, Elrond, or any elves that seek me, it does not matter – I was not here. Can you promise me that, friend?" He knelt on one knee, and placed a hand on his shoulder, their faces close enough that anything more than a whisper was unwarranted.

"I understand, but I hope you are not in any trouble." Bilbo murmured.

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not, but I travel in secret, for my own safety as well as yours."

* * *

The red dawn rises and smiles down on this fair land, and I, who lay peacefully upon it. I walked this path in the dark, with no weapon but my brain. I listened to the grass crunch beneath my feet, the early winter's frost glistened in the starlight and I felt unusually safe. The sun gives no warmth but I do not feel the cold, it does not seem to reach me here.

I have come here each day and watched the sun rise, and I return to the same spot to stare into the sunset. The days here are slow and quiet but I am not bored, it is blissfully relaxing to spend most of my day helping Bilbo with his elvish or cooking. The new moon rose on the first day I woke after my fever and has faded since. It is a long time to me. If I was home then no one would bat an eyelid, they found it endearing when I used to stare at the full moon when I was a child. I could never stay in one place for long. 'Itchy feet', Lord Elrond called it. 'Just like your brothers' he would laugh when I wanted to explore. Elladan and Elrohir had nothing on me. They were content to stay in one place more than a fortnight, whereas I wanted to move on, or needed to because I was in some kind of trouble.

I have not spent these past six weeks in just Hobbiton, I have explored much of the Shire alone, or occasionally with Bilbo who has become a honourable companion to me. He is as mischievous as I once was, and I find myself laughing like I used to. Laughing like I used to with Legolas. He would always take the moral high ground, or feign maturity but I could tell he enjoyed the scrapes I got us in, or breaking out of the restrictive formality of Mirkwood. I miss him. I did not miss him when he left Imladris when I was twelve, nor when I left Mirkwood after my infamous visit a few years ago. Maybe it was because I knew I would see him again. But I will not. I cannot.

Each night brings new horror to my memories, and with every new dream, my actions terrify me so much that I now begin to hope that they are just dreams. My heart quashes this. I know that I hurt Legolas. I know that he will never forgive me and I know that I do not deserve to be. How can you be forgiven for something you cannot explain? I long to see my friend again, but what could I say? I hurt you, I cannot say why or promise that I will not do it again, my head is clear now, but it may not always be. I am afraid. What if, at the first glimpse of him, it all comes flooding back, the anger, the fear, and the hatred? I am as afraid for myself as I am for Legolas.

If I could just find out what happened in those mountains, what made me so angry with my closest friend, then maybe I could forgive myself. The key must be in those bleak hills, but my memories of that place are just a scrambled blur. My head tells me to seek answers and that means returning to that lonely place, but my heart aches at the thought. I am not a fearful man, I am not easily frightened, especially of the unknown, how can you be afraid of something you are not sure exists? But I am. That place is evil. Or at least that is what my gut says. Do I stay in this place, revel in the peace and tranquillity and safeness of it all, or do I face my fears?

* * *

The elf stood motionless in the mist, a small figure in the shadows of the vast mountains. The cumbersome sunset crept slowly behind the western peaks, leaving the bleak valley in a strange, pinkish haze. It was deathly silent; these past six lonely days had been painfully so. He had been wandering for days, looking in vain for his companion, walking himself into an exhausted stupor. Cold and tired, Legolas had barely managed a wink of sleep, and it showed in his face, which was a grey, gaunt mask, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. The morbid curiosity of mortality that he had experienced this past week had descended into a dull numbness, discarded by its preoccupied host. The sound of his footsteps rang in his ears, making his head thump uncomfortably; each footfall seemed to echo continuously, as if he were the only living soul in this place. He stopped walking, and sat on a small ledge in the rock, and he wondered if there was a lonelier man in Middle Earth.

And suddenly, as if he had appeared from nowhere, a solitary figure stood in the near distance surrounded by the fog. Legolas froze, staring as hard as his throbbing eyes could bear. It wasn't possible. He rose to his feet and stood motionless for minutes, simply watching him. The fair elf moved forward tentatively, still unsure if it was Estel.

It was.

His human friend stood there, unsteady on his feet, naked in the twilight.

"Estel?" His voice trembled as he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.

He was a mess, his skin was like ice, covered in dust and grime and blood. His grey eyes, void of their usual silver sparkle, were a pool of nothingness, staring aimlessly into the distance. Shaking terribly, his dark hair hanging limply in greasy mattes knocking into his face, he barely acknowledged Legolas' presence at all.

"Estel? Are you hurt? Can you remember what happened?" He asked, guiding his eyes to meet his.

His friend looked at him, his eyes showing a glimpse of familiarity, of recognition, but it was also a look of loss and confusion. With trembling fingers, the young man raised his hands to his ears, and recoiled to find drying blood upon his fingertips.

"My ear-" He muttered. "I cannot hear. I cannot-" His voice remained quiet but his tone became shrill with panic.

Stumbling backward, out of the elf's grasp, lungs heaving with alarm, his eyes rolled back and knees gave way, sending him crashing to the ground with a helpless thud, disappearing into blackness.

It had been an uneventful two days following their reunion; Estel was frail and exhausted, he had slept solidly throughout, muttering softly in his dreams. The elf watched him intently, each rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyes as he dreamt, the occasional twitch of a limb. He had cleaned all the wounds he could find, and they were all just grazes and scratches, but for his hands, which were covered in burns that smarted brightly. His body was visibly thinner but not painfully so, weary and vulnerable. On his left wrist, barely visible under the layers of filth and dried blood, there was an odd marking, a small 'X', carved into his skin. Legolas had been terribly curious of that mark, while his young friend's other injuries were numerous, a fall or some sort of accident could have caused them all, but that 'X' had to have been done deliberately.

At dawn on the third day, Legolas awoke from a brief and unintended sleep, to find Estel standing in front of the drowning embers of their campfire, staring unblinkingly at him. It was pouring, with fat heavy drops of rain hurtling down onto his skin, the filth that clung so stubborn to him was washing away slowly, running down his bare torso in blackened torrents, revealing fresh pinkish flesh like a newborn baby.

"Can we go home now?" He said in a low, unfamiliar tone.

"Yes." Legolas murmured. "We shall leave this place if you are fit to travel."

There was a slight flinch on the human's dripping face, of annoyance, with a little embarrassment too. "I want to go home. I want to leave." He uttered.

The fair being, realising his error at speaking to his friend, moved closer into the rain, and nodded.

* * *

Elladan closed the door behind him, leaving the old friends alone to speak, and turned to his brother, a reflection of his elegance and shook his head solemnly.

"It has been a long time since I saw Ada so sombre. He has barely spoken a word in weeks." He murmured.

Elrohir nodded in agreement, and they walked slowly down the corridor. "He has lost more than a son. He believes he has destroyed the future of men by allowing this to happen."

"No one could have foreseen this."

"No? I think we could have. He was unstable; anyone could see that. We should have kept a closer watch on him." The ebony haired elf hissed. "It is our fault he is no longer here."

"Tell me brother, why do you not say he is dead? It is always 'he's gone' or 'no longer here'." The elder twin spoke softly and carefully. "It is time we accepted Estel is dead and grieved."

"I do not believe he is dead." Elrohir said defiantly. "Until I can see his still body, feel the lifeless cold of his skin, I will not believe."

They stood in silence for some time in the growing cold of early winter, the wind bludgeoning around the valley, bringing down the last leaves in flourishes of copper and grey. Watching their father pace around his study, with the silver, dishevelled figure of Gandalf standing motionless in the centre, the brothers each searched for something to say, dark frowns marking their identical faces.

"We will never find his body."

The elf glanced at him, and then at the grey sky. "That is because there is no body to find."

"We saw the mark of his fall." Elladan whispered. "The blood on the rocks… his ring."

"It proves nothing." He growled angrily.

"It proves enough."

They fell into a tense hush once more. The younger twin ran his hands through his hair shakily; a tear rolling down is cheek.

"We should tell Arwen, she would want to know."

Elrohir turned to him, his eyes red and lip quivering. "Tell her what? What do we know?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to say, or what to believe, I don't know anything!" He exclaimed, tears now falling down his pale cheeks. "I want to believe he is alive, I want to think that because there is no body then he his alive, but it is not that simple. My heart tells me Estel is alive, but my heart grieves and I cannot trust it."

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It will get better, and clearer.I promise. Keep the reviews coming in so that I know that I'm still on the right track!


	5. A Time to Reminisce

This is getting rather silly and I apologise. I'm going to have to take a break for a couple of months and sort out this story. I've changed this bloody creation so many times that I'm having to reread the previous chapters to check I'm not contradicting myself. I have an entire 200 page pad of paper filled with notes about it, but I think I really have to sit down and look carefully at it. Couple this with coursework, exams, work and broken fingers, I'm a little hindered at the mo!

So by the time another chapter is posted, hopefully Tony Blair will be out of power, the sun will be out and my exams would have gone well.

Oh, and if there are spelling mistakes, I'm sorry, it's hard typing with splinted fingers!

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Chapter Five: A Time to Reminisce

The late morning sun, golden and fresh, filtered gently through the tall trunks of the Mirkwood trees, setting alight the white sheet of frost that still lay settled on the uneven ground. It glistened fervently, glittering in colours of yellow and silver and green, dancing wistfully upon the fair face of the Woodland Realm's crown prince. He moved silently around the forest, but for the soft crunch of winter's trait beneath his boots, and strayed deeper into the wilderness, into the isolation he so craved. It was long before dawn when he had awoken, when the trees stood silent and stern, and he stood quietly and watched the wind flutter over the top of the canopies, as the last leaves escaped and took flight, skipping and somersaulting in the bitter night air. Leaving his room, the heavy oak door creaked loudly, but no one stirred; the guards who stood outside his bedchamber were no longer posted there, having been dismissed by the prince a few days ago. The paranoia that had plagued him since his return had eased, and the old sense of claustrophobia the palace gave him had been rekindled within him. It was not unusual for the royal family to have bodyguards, in fact Legolas was the only one without a personal escort, which had reluctantly been accepted by his father, and when he had asked for one on his unexpectedly early return, Lord Thranduil was so delighted that he did not stop to ask questions.

The fair elf had wandered noiselessly down the grand corridor, with no particular destination in mind. He had not explored his home since he was an elfling, and even then it wasn't with the freedom his companions in Rivendell and Lorien had enjoyed. The moonlight crept through the windows and set the halls in an eerie silver glow, unmeasured in its beauty, unsettling in its resemblance to his lonely nights spent in the Grey Mountains. His chest tightened for a moment, a wild pang of fear hit him square in the chest and he stood motionless, staring down the long empty room, his breathing felt louder, whistling and wheezy, as if the whole world should hear him but did not. It did not continue for long, five minutes or so, before he continued off in no particular direction. Dawn slithered closer, slow and cumbersome like a snail in the grass, the sky growing lighter as the minutes ticked by.

It was not long before he found himself in the East wing, where their healing halls were and a place he had not been in for months. There were a few beds, with spotless white sheets sitting crisply upon them. It was deathly silent; the soft nightly noises could not be heard here, it was also as dark as it was quiet.

_"There are no serious injuries, the gashes on his legs were probably caused by a fall, there are an array of minor cuts and grazes which, begging your pardon, seem to be a permanent feature on the young man." Tinehtele, the Mirkwood healer said with a hesitant smirk._

_Legolas guffawed and slapped his hand down hard on Estel's shoulder, which made the human jump terribly. He frowned and cocked a curious eyebrow._

_"She says you're fine, a little clumsy perhaps, but fine." He spoke clearly, emphasising the words to his helpless companion._

_"Clumsy?" He questioned loudly. "I am not clumsy."_

_"Do you know what has caused his deafness?" The prince asked in a low voice. "Is it curable?"_

_"It is strange, do you not agree, Tinehtele, that our friend here enquires about my loss of hearing in as a meek voice as he can manage? Just turn your back on me and I am none the wiser!"_

_"It is, my Lord. You will be pleased to know that your deafness is temporary; your eardrums have burst but they should heal in a month or so." The healer smiled reassuringly, her hazel eyes gleaming earnestly. "The burns to your hands are minor, but will need to be kept clean-"_

_"Clean and sterile, I know. My cuts have signs of infection, but can be easily treated. I am well." Estel spoke courteously, but could not disguise the slight irritation in his voice._

_She smiled apologetically, before kneeling beside him, her ivory complexion looked even paler in contrast to the young human's sun bronzed skin. He looked at her for a moment, his frown soon fading, and a faint, intimate beam lit up his stubbly face. Holding his gaze briefly, the elf soon returned to her task of cleaning his smarting burns, the room was quiet, with only the trio remaining. _

_Estel flinched and let out a breathy hiss, causing Tinehtele to look back up at him. "It stings." He said sheepishly._

_"Sorry." She murmured, blushing a little._

_Legolas, who sat watching the scene, raised an inquisitive eyebrow and shook his head. He wondered whether there was an elf maiden in the whole of Middle Earth he had not charmed. He doubted it._

_"I am a little concerned this mark on your arm." She began softly, placing her long fingers delicately above it. "It does not look a deep wound, but it is not healing as it should."_

_The prince moved closer, and peered over her shoulder to see the 'X', sore and red, as if it had been etched into his skin that morning. "That is strange," He muttered. "I noticed that the day I found him, and it had almost healed then."_

_"I pulled the scab off. It kept catching on my clothes." The dark haired mortal declared distantly._

_Tinehtele laughed warmly, her hand still resting upon his warm skin. "Well picking it off won't solve such a problem." She scolded playfully. "It will have to heal some time."_

_"Do not speak to me as if I am some disobedient child! It is my body, I do as I choose with it." Estel spat nastily, startling the two elves._

_Legolas stared at him wide-eyed, shocked by the seething anger his friend's voice and a look of abhorrence that he had never witnessed from the usually mild-mannered young man. "There is no need for that, apologise at once." The fair elf spoke sternly, instantly forgetting his inability to hear._

_The human remained motionless for a moment, staring vengefully at the elf-maiden, then sharply switched his gaze to his old friend, his eyes narrow and hateful in a tense defiance. But suddenly it all melted away as quickly as it surfaced, and the elf found himself looking down on an unnerved and mortified child. Estel, who was visibly trembling, turned back to the elven healer, who was frozen to the spot where she knelt. _

_"Tinehtele," He said shakily, taking her hand in his. "I'm sorry. I do not know what came over me." _

The prince slipped away from the grand security of the palace and into the dangers of the woods, unnoticed in the wilderness. He drifted in and out of his thoughts, but still kept the sharp alertness he had always possessed, his keen blue eyes shone brighter than the moon. This place oozed, almost overwhelmingly, with memories, in some parts of the vast forest every tree, every fallen branch or moss-covered rock brought the past rushing back like a flash flood, ripping through the ancient terrain and hitting him hard in the face. Childhood accidents, running in between the fat trunks as fast as he could, hunting, teaching the finer skills of archery to lesser students, or just talking to his family or friends or servants.

Walking for hours, he watched the character of the vast forest change as the light improved, and as dawn set the quiet trees alive, he continued to trek, but still he was within a couple of miles of his home, circling like predator. Noon approached, and his absence would have set off alarm bells in his father's ears, but it was something, Legolas thought, he should be used to by now. The fair elf stopped, his blond mane, unusually unkempt, fluttered in meek straggles as a gentle breeze wafted by. Perhaps he should return now and make his presence known, before the royal guards came searching. Again. Smirking to himself, he turned and headed through the dense foliage, walking at his own pace, until after an hour, the imposing form of the woodland palace came into view. Casually he stepped onto the path that led to the courtyard, trying to suppress his laughter as the royal guards stopped to acknowledge his presence with a salute that brimmed with a seething politeness.

His father's chief advisor caught sight of him and scuttled like a loyal puppy toward him, rubbing his hands together in the nervous manner that had become habit after serving the elf king for so long. The fair prince walked a little quicker, into the grand corridor, ignoring the older elf's attempts to get his attention. Finally, after a long chase, Culnámo managed to catch up with him outside of Legolas' bedchamber, and patted him tentatively on the shoulder.

"My Lord, I am glad to see no harm has come of you, your father was very worried." He said breathlessly.

"With no good reason, as usual." The prince replied flatly. "Tell him this is my home too, and I may wander where I please."

"King Thranduil has asked me to reassign you a personal escort, he feels that your behaviour compromises your safety and the security of this kingdom."

"You can tell my father that if he does that, then I shall disappear once more, but this time I will not come back." Legolas growled, slamming the door behind him.

_Slamming the heavy oak door like a petulant child, his face froze into a deep frown. This room seemed to be his only sanctuary, a place with no formality, no salutes nor titles, just serenity. Estel lay motionless in bed, sleeping late into the morning as usual; sharing a room seemed the better option for the human while his eardrums healed. His face, which always seemed to soften back into a child's when he slept, was hidden beneath his mass of dark waves, and a murmuring strayed from his lips, unintelligible to the prince. Legolas stood still for a moment, listening closely to what his friend was muttering, but still he could not work it out. He drew closer, until he was leant over him, his ear within a foot of the dozing man's mouth, but still he did not understand. The room fell into a noiseless hush, and the elf glanced down to see Estel staring at him, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He was afraid. He had not seen fear like that in his eyes for years. Worst of all, his friend seemed to be scared of him._

_"Estel?" He said quietly. "Are you well?"_

_The young man blinked at him, before visibly relaxing. "Yes, I'm fine. You startled me, that's all… what were you doing?"_

_"What? Oh, you were sleep talking and my curiosity got the better of me. Sorry." Legolas muttered, backing away._

_Estel looked at the elf, his face an unreadable expression, and nodded slowly, in a watchful, restrained manner, as if he didn't quite believe him. He pushed away the thick quilt and climbed out of bed, his ivory bedclothes hung off his lean but muscular shoulders, creased and slightly limp with sweat. Moving silently, his elven-like poise remained despite the giant scabs on his knees that limited his ability to walk, the human settled at the window, and let the dappled sunlight warm his face. His hair was overgrown and his stubble was now becoming a scruffy beard; he looked much older than his twenty-two years, and the elf still found it startling how quickly he had grown into a man._

_"Legolas," He began, leaning into the windowsill, his eyes closed and shoulders stooping a little. "I feel as if I… as if I am being suffocated here."_

_"I know. I feel the same, there is no room to breathe in this place."_

_"Then why do we not just go, I miss the freedom, if we do not leave soon, the mountain passage may be impassable." Estel asked, glancing back briefly._

_"It is tempting, I admit." The elf murmured, looking down at his hands._

_"Do you want to travel in winter? The Anduin is hard to cross when the weather turns and the snow could get too deep for me to wade through." The human continued, a wry smile lighting up his rascally face as he sat beside his friend on the bed._

_"We cannot attempt to travel until your… your hearing returns." He trailed off, and stared at the silver-eyed man. "You- we just spoke without eye contact, can you hear me?"_

_Estel raised an eyebrow, his grin fading into a slight bemused smirk. "Of course I can hear you, I'm not deaf." He laughed._

_Legolas stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. "I don't understand; it's only been a week… you can really hear me?"_

_He stopped smiling, and fell into a mystified frown. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but this joke isn't very funny."_

_"I could say the same to you, I'll fetch Tinehtele, whatever your tricks, your deafness is gone and that is the important thing in all this." The prince spoke with a civil exasperation._

_"Legolas, dear friend," He said calmly but firmly, grasping the elf's arm with a subtle vigour. "I say this to you with all the honesty I possess – I have no clue of what you are talking about. My hearing is fine, it always has been." _

_Their eyes met and held a long stare, both looking for that hint of humour, which would end the confusion. It could not be found in either's. With a brief nod, Legolas left in an uncomfortable silence, to fetch the healer, whom he hoped could clear the whole episode up._

He sat on that same bed; the gold and bronzes of the bed sheets of then had been replaced with ice blue covers that mirrored the harsh winter cold and also his own eyes. Sitting in an empty silence, the elf ran his fingers through his long blond hair, trying to remove the tangles that had formed during his trek. It had been a strange morning and his old friend had constantly been at the forefront of his thoughts. They had left Mirkwood at dawn two days later, Tinehtele had been as shocked as him about Estel's hearing, but still he insisted he knew nothing of what they were saying. Their journey was generally uneventful, though as the days went by and they got closer to the Misty Mountains, the human's behaviour became erratic at times, his temper flaring for no reason. He was quiet, which he always was at times, but it became a prolonged and uncomfortable hush, as if a thousand things were rushing through his head and he was trying to make sense of them all. Physical contact diminished between them, when once the pair had been forever play fighting or duelling or sleeping on one another's legs, an invisible barrier stood tall and oppressive. Legolas sighed, pulling his long green sleeves up to his elbow, he stared down at the scars on his arms that wouldn't seem to fade. He thought Estel was tired and in pain, and that was the reason for his distant behaviour. How wrong he had been. He was not tired, or in pain; he was stronger than he'd ever known, he was silent because he was plotting an ultimate betrayal.

_Everything was becoming more familiar, friendlier as they ventured closer to their adopted home. The leaves glistened in the early morning dew, their feet crunching in the fallen leaves as the birds squawked noisily above them. They walked in contrast; blond and fair to dark and grubby, kindred spirits yet a world apart, the elf and the man. They were on the very outskirts of Rivendell, a day away, perhaps two if the weather turned, and it wasn't a moment too soon as far as Legolas was concerned. Estel had not said a word since he'd woken at dawn an hour ago, and while taking watch for the second part of the night, he had watched the human muttering and cursing in his sleep, tormentedand angry. He was more than concerned about him, and thought it would be better to have him back in the care of Lord Elrond._

_Legolas walked ahead of his friend, the path they took was overgrown and narrow and it was difficult to track the route more than a dozen or so steps. It barely seemed a path at all, and the elf had never come this way before._

_"Tell me again why we are going this way..." The fair being asked with false humour._

_He didn't answer at first, until Legolas turned back. "I told you, there is something I want to show you. It is not far."_

_They hiked on a little further, until the trees stopped abruptly and the land descended into a steep valley. It was a spectacular view, the sun bursting through the bare winter canopy and lit the dell in hazy glow. The elf smiled and his unease lifted._

_"It is beautiful, Estel. How long have you known about this place?"_

_There was no reply. Only silence. Legolas glanced backward, but there was no one there. The forest had gone silent, the birds sitting silently in the branches._

_"Estel?" _

_He stalked back onto the path, scanning his surroundings carefully, but he could see no one. There was a slight rustle to his right and he turned like a shot, but suddenly, a heavy force hit him like a bullet from the left and he went flying to the edge of the valley with an agonizing thud. He lay there for a second, completely stunned, with the taste of blood in his throat. Estel was on top of him, looking anxiously around, his movements twitchy and nervous. _

_"Estel? What are you doing?" The elf managed to gasp._

_"Shhhh!" The dark-haired human hissed manically, leaning close into him._

_"You're crushing me!" He said, unsure if his friend was playing some elaborate joke, and his brothers would come out of the trees giggling._

_He said nothing, and instead of easing his weight from the elf's chest, he pressed his knee in tighter. Looking down at him, Estel's face darkened, and his eyes lit up menacingly. Legolas' heart started to pound, if this was a joke; it wasn't a funny one. He tried to laugh, but could only cough painfully from the pressure on his chest, and closed his eyes for a few second to collect his thoughts. He opened them to find a knife hovering terrifyingly close to his eyes._

_"Th-this isn't funny anymore-"_

_"This is no joke, elf." He spat, his voice unrecognisable. "I know what you've been doing, I know everything. It's my turn."_

_With a swift action, his moved his knee and grabbed his friend by his collar, pulling him to his feet. Legolas stood frozen to the spot, unable to move if he tried from the tight hold the human had on him, and then with an almost frightening nonchalance, he hit him square in the chest, knocking him over the brink without a word. The elf clattered down the sharp terrain, hitting tree trunks and rocks as he fell until he hit the bottom, and he descended into unconsciousness. _

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See you in a couple of months… 


	6. Light in the Darkness

After 8 separate rewrites of this chapter alone, the loss of chapters 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11 to my stupidity and computer's vindictiveness, a terrorist attack, broken fingers, my subconscious inability to revise for exams (though I did get full marks in my coursework – smug as hell about that) Malcolm Glazer's takeover of Man United and the sad loss of my uncle Brian, it has been a hard few months for me. But at least this chapter is done, and the others are becoming much easier to write, so I would say that updates would probably be every two weeks on Mondays or Tuesdays.

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Chapter Six: A Light in the Darkness

The forest stood proud and tall, a place where grief and desolation could not touch, dignified and immortal as the rain pattered lightly on the leaves in a peaceful hymn. The bitter loneliness of winter, the chill and the hush, seemed not to have reach the confines of Lórien, while trees throughout the land crouched over like old men, withering and naked, groaning wearily in the icy winds, the mallorns stood regally with crowns of golden leaves, leaving the land below to bask in a golden glow. The wood was not as dense as Mirkwood or even the outskirts of Rivendell, and the dull moody clouds peered enviously down at them through the forest canopy. A low rumble of thunder echoed distantly and the drizzle began to get heavier, reminding the two brothers that they were still in the grips of midwinter.

The birdsong, which on their last visit had been raucous and heartening, was now not more than hushed chatter. Though winter's gloom failed to touch the golden wood, a different manner of desolation had settled around them. It could not be seen in the trees, for they were too old and too content in the fairest of all the forests in Middle Earth, but there was an unusual sadness in the air, unfitting for a place renowned for its tranquillity.

Perhaps it was not Lothlórien that was hushed and grieving, but the Elven pair that travelled beneath the smooth boughs in a hurt silence. The days had become long and tense, and relations between the brothers were becoming more strained with every passing hour. Riding at a canter along the soft ground, the thudding of the hooves was at moments the only noise they could here.

"It is too quiet." Elladan murmured.

"Where are the border patrols? We have not yet seen a soul." His brother replied incredulously.

Slowing to a gradual halt, they scanned their surroundings, but could see no sign of anyone. A chilly gust of wind rushed toward them and sent their damp cloaks flapping loudly, and a dull grey light exuded from the breaks in the trees about three hundred yards away.

"Caras Galadhon is not far, I would have expected somebody to meet us." Elrohir murmured. "It is strange."

"Maybe they have already seen us and know that we do not need an escort."

The younger twin glanced at his sibling, pursing his lips with minor irritation. "We are their kin, I would have expected some form of greeting."

"Let us just take our path and if we have to bang on the gates and beg them to let us in, then so be it. There are graver things to think about at this moment than the hospitality of our relations." Elladan snapped.

Another silence fell between them; it had been a long time since they had fought like this and the ill feeling showed no sign of easing. Elrohir gave his brother a stubborn nod and rode on toward the thinning tree line. Soon they no longer rode beneath the serene cover of the mallorns and instead the biting wind and bitter rain battered their faces. It was a foul day, the murk crowed over them, dark and wretched as the mid morning sun tried to breach the fortress of cloud, but there was no way through. In the distance, a beacon glimmered in the mist, tall and imposing; Caras Galadhon, the home of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, the parents of their late mother, and also their sister, who was the reason for their visit.

The ground was hard from the cold and the rain had turned the exposed fosse into a slick and impossible route with horses. They both dismounted, their boots barely gripped the sodden grass and the wind swirled mercilessly around the huge open ring, almost blowing them off their feet.

"There is a storm building, we must find shelter, I say we go back." Elladan spoke grimly, looking up at the angry looking clouds.

Elrohir didn't reply, and studied the slope for a moment. He glanced up at the sky as the rain began to fall more heavily and a low rumble echoed around them. Taking his steed's reins, the elf led him away without a word. Elladan watched him, his jaw clenched as he wiped the rain from his eyes. With a sad sigh, he nodded to himself and turned away to stand under the trees as his brother looked for another path. A few minutes went by, and a flash of lightning set the sky alight, Elrohir emerged from the gloom, his long hair dripping wet and a face darker than the clouds.

"It is only a storm, we have more pressing matters to deal with than getting wet." He hissed, his breath fogging.

"The storm will pass, it is too dangerous for the horses."

"Then we leave them here and send someone to fetch them when the weather clears. You wanted to come here, you wanted to tell Arwen that our brother is dead when it is not clear that he is. Now you are treating it as if were a normal visit!" Elrohir cried angrily. "You act as if Estel never existed."

"You forget your other brother. Legolas can only wish Aragorn never existed. He is not a little boy anymore, you cannot keep defending him." Elladan growled. "He is dead, Arwen deserves to know."

"You don't know that! You just chose to believe it because it is easier! We should be looking for him and trying to find out what polluted his mind, not condemning him as a monster."

The sounds of bells and the low wail of a horn interrupted them, and lights could be seen in the mist.

"Hello!" Came a friendly call and a fair haired elf came into view, his head covered in a grey hood, but his smile was immediately familiar. "Our scouts alerted us of your presence but this weather has hampered our welcome party."

"It is well." Elladan replied stiffly, shooting his brother a final sharp look before turning to the half dozen or so elves. "We were unsure of whether to wait for the storm to pass or find a path now, for we must move with haste, it is urgent that we speak with our sister."

The elf nodded, and turned his party around. "Of course, my lord, my men will lead your horses on another route, but you can follow me for a faster path."

A bright flash flared beyond the thick golden roof above them, followed by a loud roar of thunder that shook the ends of the branches. The rain slipped softly from the canopy and down the thick mallorn trunks, sparkling in the soft lamplight. The air was crisp and full of cheerful song for their arrival, but the sweet chorus was lost on the two elves, who waited in a deathly silence for their sister. Elladan glanced briefly at his brother, who was leaning on the carved wooden railings on the other side of the flet looking down at the world below. He turned away and rubbed his throbbing eyes, this place had been a refuge from grief for his family but now they had reluctantly brought more pain to bear.

Why they were here was unclear. Rivendell was locked in a haze of desolation, days would pass before their father would be seen, and even then he barely spoke. It was an unexpected reaction for such a restrained man, he had always been so philosophical about Aragorn's mortality, but now that it had been faced, he was inconsolable. The atmosphere had become unbearable for everybody, their home had been so full of laughter and song but now it was lost in a lonely silence. In one respect, Elladan had decided to tell Arwen in person of their foster brother's death so that he could leave the draining sadness, and his twin, who had not forgiven him for ending their search. But Elrohir had insisted on coming, telling him that he was not capable of comforting Arwen for he had no faith in Aragorn's innocence. A letter, perhaps, would have been enough to tell her, but they knew that there was a great affection, only one-sided as far as they could tell, between them and so it did not seem fair to inform her with a few scrawled words. Now that they were here, he thought of nothing but escape.

"Elladan, Elrohir, what brings you here without a word?" Arwen beamed as she entered, pulling them into tight embraces.

The twins smiled weak, tragic smiles and dropped their gaze to their feet. The elf maiden looked at them for a moment, the joy fast draining from her body and a sickening empty feeling of dread took its place.

"Ada is well-"

"Yes," Elrohir answered quickly. "Physically at least, but he is not himself. He has barely said a word to anyone in some time."

"He is grieving." She murmured. "It is Estel, isn't it? My heart has been heavy with worry for him of late"

"It is." Elladan muttered, taking her pale hand in his. "He is dead, Arwen, I am sorry."

All of the colour in her face faded and her eyes widened with stunned loss. Opening her mouth for a few moments, it closed again, as if the words were stuck in her throat, she pulled both of her siblings into a trembling hug.

"I do not believe it." She sat down, her voice barely a whisper. "How?"

Elladan kneeled beside her calmly. "He fell… He could not have survived."

Elrohir stiffened and walked away, shaking his head. Arwen watched him, confused and anxious, before turning her attentions back to her other brother, whose face had become stern rather than sad.

"Were you with him at the end?" The elf asked quietly. "Estel would have wanted you there, no one should face death alone."

Elrohir suddenly let out a bitter snort and rounded on his two relatives, his face flushed with anger. "Face death alone? We aren't even sure if he's dead!" He spat.

"What do you mean? I-I don't understand…" Arwen stammered.

"He's dead. He fell from a cliff and was washed away. We will never find his body." The elder twin explained with collected assurance.

"We won't find anything because you refused to look."

"You did not search for him? It is not like you to give up, especially on somebody so dear to you."

"I did not give up." Elladan snapped. "He was lost to the Baranduin, we could have followed the river to the sea and we still wouldn't have found him."

"It was not that, and you know it." Elrohir growled. "You were as broken as I was when we found his ring, why now have you turned cold on our brother? Why are you so fast to condemn him to a legacy of shame?"

Silence fell between them, the twins staring hard at one another and Arwen stood between them, bewildered and tearful. Another rumble of thunder bellowed above them, making the tree the stood in tremble a little.

"Something else is wrong. Tell me what has happened to divide you on a relationship that has been so united." She demanded.

The elves remained silent, their gazes falling first to the ground and then drifting away in opposite directions. It was an uncomfortable stalemate, though both wanted to argue their side, neither could find the words to begin. The canopy above creaked and groaned in the gusting storm, and the silver lamps that glittered high around them swayed with growing ferocity, Elladan watched them flicker with distant interest, as the silence between the kin grew unbearable.

"Estel attacked Legolas." Elrohir suddenly murmured. "His mind was poisoned somehow, and he turned on his most trusted friend."

"Legolas is lucky to be alive, not that we shall ever see him again I fear."

"Estel is not a killer or whatever you think he is. If he was of sound mind then nothing ill would have happened. But you seem to forget that he did not escape unscathed, it is he who is lucky to be alive."

"Aragorn is dead, brother! You must accept it, he is gone." Elladan cried, before lowering his voice sombrely. "If you had seen Legolas after we found them, you would not be so sympathetic for our mortal friend. He was a shadow of himself."

His twin shook his head touchily, his face dark and stern and his eyes laced with tears. Arwen stood motionless, helpless as they continued to bicker, their argument felt lost on her, she did not know what had happened between Estel and Legolas and it seemed that they didn't know too clearly either.

"Start at the beginning, I don't understand." She interrupted calmly.

"We had spent much of the summer in Mirkwood, but departed early, leaving Aragorn behind. He and Legolas were closer than ever, and were going to return to Rivendell together in the autumn." Elrohir started after a long pause. "They were late returning, we were expecting them a fortnight before but there was no sign of them. We decided to go to the border to look for them, winter was nearing and the nights were becoming perilously cold. Legolas had sent word that there had been some sort of accident and Estel was not fully fit, so we were getting concerned over his welfare."

"As we drew closer to the outskirts of our home, the atmosphere had changed markedly, the trees were quieter and our hearts felt heavy with an unknown sorrow. Suddenly there was a terrible cry… it was Legolas. There was such pain and so much anguish in his bloodcurdling scream that we seemed to freeze in our tracks. We had never heard such suffering." His brother continued, slumping into a chair, exhausted.

The elf watched him for a few seconds; the abhorrence in his eyes had softened a bit. "We regained our senses soon after and tracked the screams, believing they were under attack, we passed through the trees until we found a clearing, and there they were…" He stopped, his lip trembling as he pushed a hand through his damp hair agitatedly. "Estel was standing over his friend with a sword in one hand and a thick branch in the other. He saw us out of the corner of his eye and was distracted momentarily, when Legolas leapt up and stabbed him in the stomach. We watched in horror as he collapsed, blood gushing all over him, and Legolas knelt there, crying hysterically."

"In the coming days, I spent more time with Legolas, he was deeply distressed and barely spoke, but to tell me he acted in self defence. Judging by the bruising and cuts on his body, I knew he was speaking the truth. He left without a word on the third night. I informed Ada, and we restrained Aragorn while was still unconscious. When he awoke, he seemed only to remember Legolas stabbing him." Elladan explained, closing his eyes.

"Estel was very ill, I'm still amazed that he recovered so quickly. The wound to his gut should have killed him, but he fought it. After his initial anger, he began to ask about what had happened, he couldn't believe it when I told him, but a few days later he had changed. I could tell he was beginning to recollect, and I could see in his eyes that he was a broken man. He disappeared a week later."

"We managed to track him to Bree, a small town in Eriador, a month on, but he had already gone. Elrohir and I went ahead of the search party and reached the river of Baranduin, from what we could see, Aragorn had fallen to his death."

Arwen nodded and left them alone, patting Elrohir, who was visibly distraught, gently on the shoulder as she walked past.

A few hours went by slowly, and Elrohir sat alone in a quiet glade, deep in thought. Tears rolled down his face and his hands trembled, he listened to the birds chirp occasionally now that the singing had ended. The fresh scent of the rain-damp woodland soothed his emotions a little, and he glanced around his golden surroundings and followed the great silver pillars up into the heavens. He closed his eyes and leant wearily back against the trunk of a mallorn, but the tears fell harder.

"I cannot bear to see you so sad, my brother." Arwen whispered softly, as she sat beside him. "He was a noble man, he would not have acted without reason."

"It is destroying me, Arwen. He is my brother; Legolas was his closest ally, what could turn him into such a monster? I cannot believe I will never see him again."

"If he has fallen, then he is with his mother and father, does that not give you comfort?"

He looked at her for a moment, and nodded, but it didn't stop his tears. "It does, but I would have liked to be with him at the end, by his side as I have always been."

The elf maiden kissed his head, her ebony hair fluttered in a sudden gust of wind. "Perhaps this will give you some comfort." She murmured and handed him a creased, weathered piece of parchment.

_My dear Arwen,_

_I write this at a time when I am lost in the world._

_Do not reply, I do not want nor warrant one, but I do ask_

_you not to speak of this to anyone. Yet I trust your judgement_

_wholly_ _and if you choose to reveal this, then I know you felt it_

_essential. _

_I am guilty of the most brutal betrayal of friendship and trust_

_and for that I am eternally ashamed and sorry. I now have to_

_accept that my place is not with the people who brought me up_

_as one of their own, no elf could have committed the crimes I _

_have. I do not know where my place is, or what my fate will be._

_I left Imladris to make myself worthy of your love, but I know _

_now that I will never be. We shall never meet again, but my_

_love for you will never fail._

_Goodbye._

_Estel._

Elrohir reread it again and again, his eyes welling up once more, but this time a smile broke out. "When did you get this?"

"A few weeks ago, but it was delivered by a man from the realm of Rohan." She explained calmly, wary of raising his hopes. "He said they intercepted it from a messenger from this town of Bree you spoke of, as he had no clue of how to reach here. It may have taken months to reach here, so you see, brother, it does not prove that Estel is alive."

The smile did not diminish from the elf's face. "No, no it does not, but it is something. It is a lead; the people of Bree knew Estel's face – they called him Strider because of his giant step!" Elrohir enthused like a young child. "If he had given a letter to be delivered they would have remembered, especially to an unfamiliar place like Lórien. Then we would know if it was before or after he fled Bree!"

Arwen nodded, unsure of whether to encourage him or not. It was a last chance of hope for her devastated brother, so she could not bring herself to dishearten him in anyway.

The brothers left a few hours later with a renewed sense of optimism, and a slightly mended relationship. Elladan had greeted the letter with similar zeal, and quiet remorse. Elrohir saw a flicker of guilt in his twin's eyes and with that, his grievance was lost. They rode as quickly as their steeds could bear, through the snow and under the ghostly gaze of the moon. Upon reaching their home, they collapsed into their chairs, exhausted from a long journey without rest.

Gandalf was the first to greet them, and he too looked like he had not slept in weeks, his beard was matted and his eyes red and puffy. He only briefly remarked on their swift return, and instead beckoned them quickly to the library. Following him wearily, their legs feeling like lead and questions going unanswered, Elladan immediately spotted his father hunched over a dusty old manuscript.

"We have found it." Lord Elrond said with grim fervour. "The key to Estel's madness, right underneath our noses."


	7. Shadows of the Past

What can I say? Sorry. Life kind of got in the way. Will try to be more regular now. Humbly sorry.

Shadows & Scars

Chapter Seven: Shadow of the Past

The wizard sat in old oak chair that had beautiful golden upholstery tainted by ash and small burns, the elf was leaning over his desk like a wilted flower, exhausted yet still alert. There were books and parchment piled high over their heads like a macabre mountain range, the library lit by only a scattering of candles, most of which were reduced to velvety molten pools sinking into the wood grain, the flames licking at the surface. The cold dull winter light hung at the window, but did not penetrate the gloom that hung heavily in the corners. There was what felt like a long silence, a confused nervous expectant silence, the brothers shifted wearily and looked down at their feet.

"In the mountains there is a place without light." Elrond suddenly murmured.

"A dark force." Gandalf recited grimly.

The twins glanced at one another uneasily, their minds were as tired as their bodies and this sudden development was threatening to overwhelm them. Elrohir took a seat beside the wizard, his body sinking into the worn leather as he rubbed his eyes wearily.

"I do not understand, Ada, what does this have to do with Estel?"

The elf pulled out a small page filled with chaotic, scruffy scrawl. "I do not know who they are, how they do what they do nor why, all I know is that they are a frightening plague. I have lost my brother to this shadow, he changed beyond recognition." The words caught in his throat and for a moment he slipped into his own thoughts, his eyes wide and sad.

"The air goes still and cold. The mountains go quiet and that is a sign that this shadow has come to hunt, for even the orcs who infest these peaks at night scuttle deep into their lairs, even they are frightened of this unknown. My daughter disappeared that night and returned a different person."

"What are these?" Elladan took the paper from his father's trembling grasp, scanning the rest of page. "It is written by a dwarf… what does this have to do with Estel?" He asked anxiously, picking up more from the tabletop.

"There are many, son, different accounts of relationship breakdowns, sudden unexplained hostility, violence, written by dwarves and men. It is a legend, local perhaps, but I believe that this is what took my son away from himself. Something in the Grey Mountains preys on travellers, on my son…"

"But Estel… He has not been there, we travelled with him to Mirkwood, and it is not on the route home or even close."

"I wrote to the healer in Mirkwood, I didn't want to bombard Legolas with questions after all that has happened, so I spoke to Tinehtele, she is a loyal friend to him. She did not know Estel was dead."

"Can we be sure that our letter arrived? Legolas may not know either…"

Elrond looked to his son and nodded sadly. "She remembered a letter arriving from Imladris, but did not know its content. I asked about the accident Estel had that delayed their return, do you remember? Legolas was very vague in his message."

"I remember, what did she say, father?" Elrohir replied, his interest growing.

"That Legolas and Estel had decided to go on an expedition north to the Grey Mountains before they set off for here, probably just to spread his reputation for mischief to all corners of the earth." He let out half a snigger and a fond smirk before his face faded into sorrow once more. "They returned a few weeks later; something had happened in the mountains, neither gave details but she got the impression that they didn't really know themselves. Estel had minor injuries; cuts and grazes mainly, the palms of his hands were burnt, and more strangely, his eardrums had burst and he was therefore deaf. Tinehtele said it wasn't serious, as if he'd fallen, and they laughed the incident off as clumsiness." He shifted in his seat, stretching his arms. "There were, however, sudden and brief mood swings, that were so out of character it frightened her. He was expected to take a month for his hearing to return, but a week later he was fine, and appeared to remember nothing of it. They set off for Rivendell two days later."

Elladan stared at his father, he looked a broken man, his shoulders were hunched like an old man and his graceful face was now marked with great loss. He rested his hand lightly on Elrond's shoulder, before feeling his father melt tiredly against him.

"I am sorry to remain the doubter, but how can we be sure that all these accounts… that this thing is what attacked Estel-" The younger twin began.

"Every report mentions a mysterious marking on the victim's body, an 'X' carved into the skin. Estel's was on his arm."

They fell silent, a mixture of confusion and odd relief, their brother, their son, their friend, may have been as innocent a victim as Legolas was.

"I am glad his reputation can be that of a kind man of honour and-"

"There is a possibility that Estel is alive, Ada." Elrohir interrupted.

All eyes suddenly fell on him, uncomfortable in their gaze; he turned to his brother for support.

"Arwen received a letter from him, it was sent from Bree but we do not know if it was before or after…" Elladan trailed off, unsure of how to describe it now.

A smile had broken out on the older elf's face and a twinkle of hope glistened in his eyes. "But there is hope." He beamed.

"The Prancing Pony is the hub of that town, letters are sent from there, it would be his only hope of getting a message to such a distant place." Gandalf explained.

"We spoke to the innkeeper, he didn't mention a letter."

The wizard smiled a hopeful smile. "Butterbur would have told you if Aragorn had given him something. I think it is likely he still lives."

Elrond nodded slowly, his smile had gone as he rose to his feet with a renewed vigour. "We leave for Bree tomorrow." He announced.

"Someone should tell Legolas." Elladan spoke quietly.

"We'll send him a letter." Elrond replied almost nonchalantly.

Elrohir stood, shaking his head. "No, Ada, I do not think a letter will suffice. Possessed or poisoned, it will not be so easy for Legolas to forgive and forget. And to tell him Estel is still alive as well, ink on paper cannot satisfy nor comfort him."

The elven lord looked at his sons and then to his old friend and smiled sympathetically. "Yes, you are right. You and Elladan must ride to Mirkwood, Mithrandir and I will follow the trail west, and our paths may still meet."

* * *

The mid morning sun beamed down on the two riders, pale and weak, yet it was a welcome change to the gloomy winter weather of the past few months. They had set out almost a weak ago and the companions had been in mixed spirits, optimism and joy had slipped into crippling doubt and fear about fooling themselves into thinking him alive on such shaky evidence. Yet as Bree loomed closer, and the first glimpses of spring appeared, their hearts were lifted a little.

"What if he is there, Gandalf? Sitting in that inn… what do I say?" Elrond suddenly said as they sat by their campfire.

The wizard looked at him for a moment, his eyes shining gold in the firelight. "You will find the words."

They fell back into hush, the fire crackled and hissed between them and the elf looked down at his feet.

"And what if he is still… not himself?" He murmured.

"And what if he really is dead? We can only react to what stands before us, he is still your son, whether he is still under the influence of this power or not."

"But I am not his father. Not truly. Maybe there is a darkness in his heart that an elf cannot see. I love him as my own, but I cannot honestly tell you that I understand him as I do my other children." He confessed. "In truth I am more worried about how I will respond than he. If he runs, or fights or collapses into my arms with joy, I can cope. But I honestly do not know what I will do. Is he still my son, Mithrandir?"

The smoke and hazy glow of Bree came into view as the final rays of the day's sunshine slipped sleepily under the western horizon. The elf lord and the wizard looked down at the raucous town from the serene hilltops, the early spring breeze sent a chill through Gandalf and he pulled his heavy woollen cloak tighter around him. He glanced at Elrond, who was staring unblinkingly into the distance and trembling ever so slightly, with no attempt to move forward.

"It is too late to go now, we should camp here for the night." He said simply, his voice barely carrying in the wind.

"It is dusk, friend, we are an hour's ride away at most, and we are going to an inn; it is never too late." Gandalf replied gently.

The elf's eyed flickered toward his companion before setting upon the cluster of streets and buildings. He didn't speak; instead he took a deep, shaky breath and rode forth.

The broad barman stared at them with a quizzical cocked eyebrow. Silence stood between like a wall. He squinted and rubbed his copper beard.

"Yes, I thought so! I definitely remember your faces, I've seen you both before, though not together." Butterbur announced with a satisfied smile. "What can I do for you both? It's not often we get such… exotic guests."

"Master Butterbur, do you remember the circumstances of our last meeting?" Elrond spoke in a low, serious tone.

The tall human looked at him for a moment and snickered. "Why of course! It was all anyone would talk about afterwards, the day the elves invaded!" He laughed, his face then turned more sober. "You were hunting that young lad, his name escapes me now… Strider! Or at least that were what we used call 'im. Did you find 'im then? Poor fellow, he were bleeding from who knows where, and burning a fever, like an oven he were."

"You have not seen him since that day?" Gandalf enquired quietly.

"Well, no I 'aven't. They said he weren't in any trouble, and that they were practically family, and that were the only reason I helped them-"

"He was, is, my foster son, Master Butterbur." The elven lord corrected himself, his dejection clear in his voice. "We just want to find him, dead or alive."

"I'm sorry, I 'ad… he seemed a good, noble sort, but he looked a broken man to me, I 'ope you find 'im, alive of course. If I can be of help…"

"You can be." The wizard nodded, taking the crumpled letter out of his pocket. "This was sent, we believe, from here."

He took it from Gandalf's hand, reading the address, tarnished by rain and wear. "Aye, I remember it, all right, never even heard of it!" He laughed. "What do you want to know?"

"When was it sent?"

"Gosh now, I 'aven't got a great head for things like this." He mused. "Let me think… it were a while ago, it took me a couple of weeks to find anyone who had even heard of it themselves and were heading that way. No, I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you."

Elrond moved closer, and spoke calmly. "Was it before or after I arrived?"

"After, now that I can tell you. A long time after."

The elf let out a little sigh of relief. "Who gave you the letter?

"A hobbit. Not from these parts mind, from the Shire he were. Right firm about it he were, said it didn't matter 'ow long it took, but that it 'ad to reach its address. Paid a generous fee for it too."

Gandalf's eyes shot up. "Was it a Master Baggins who gave it you?"

"Baggins? Yes, that sounds about right."

There was a loud knocking on the door that woke him up. Pulling his dressing gown tightly around him, he picked up his candle and scuttled toward the front door, but peered out of his small window first and saw no one. Opening the door a fraction, it creaked loudly, making him jump.

"Hello?" He said boldly, before losing his nerve a little. "Is anyone there?"

"Did we wake you?"

"Gandalf! And Lord Elrond, what an unexpected surprise! Come in, come in!" The hobbit smiled, though his nerves threatened to show in his voice.

Bag End was dark and silent, the fireplace in the kitchen glowed with a small fire, warming the warren-like house, while the moonlight skulked sleepily over the arched beams. They followed him to the large, in hobbit terms, dining table and sat patiently while the halfling flittered distractedly through the pantry looking for something to feed his visitors while the kettle boiled on the fire. Gandalf glanced over at his old friend, who seemed jittery, his feet tapped against the cool stone floor, and looked away, rubbing his hands by the fire.

"Sorry to call on you at such a late hour, old friend, but we come on some urgent business."

Bilbo popped his head around the door, peering at them; he smiled anxiously. "Oh… urgent business, in the Shire? No such thing."

"Bilbo…"

"Yes?"

The wizard paused long enough for the hobbit to step back into the kitchen. "Will you stop fussing around, it is enough to give one the suspicion that you're hiding something." He raised an unkempt eyebrow.

"Me?" Bilbo's voice became notably higher. "What would I have to hide from you?"

"Do you remember our visit to Rivendell with the dwarves? There was a boy who lived amongst the elves… his name was Estel."

He thought for a moment, well pretended to think, and nodded slowly.

"He's missing and we need to find him." He said gently. "We believe you can help us."

"How could I possibly be of any aid?"

"We have the letter you sent for him." Elrond announced quietly.

"Letter? What letter?" Bilbo squirmed.

"Estel is my son, I raised him, taught him to read and write, slept beside him when he was plagued by nightmares of his parents' deaths. Now he has fled from my side, I just want to know if he lives or not. Why will you not tell us the truth?" The elf stared at the small figure before him, and the hobbit stared back, and nodded.

"He told me to tell no one of his presence here, for my own safety as his. I did not want to put him in any danger."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know. He said he had unfinished business in the north. That was over a month ago." Bilbo replied, taking a chair.

They fell into silence; Lord Elrond smiled and then frowned once more, Gandalf nodded to himself, while Bilbo sat with a mixture of guilt and anxiety. A lone owl hooted in the distance, and they all looked to the window as if it would appear before them.

"How was he?" The elf murmured.

"It is hard to say." He mused. "He was so frightfully ill when I met him. In a fever he revealed some terrible things, I thought they were just bad dreams, but he admitted that they were not. Dúnadan has suffered greatly; he didn't talk about it, the only clues I got were from his nighttime mutterings. Unimaginable…" He trailed off, unsure and unwilling to reveal his friend's secrets. "But the time he spent here helped him, I think. He is a good man. I took that letter to Bree the day he left; the way he was talking, I wasn't sure if he'd make it back, so I thought someone should know something; he wrote a few letters actually. Said he would leave them behind, just in case…"

Elrond straightened. "Who are they for?"

"Yes well, there are two that I didn't send; he said he would go north, and then return home and accept his fate, but if I had received no word of this in a year, then I must send them. One is for you, Lord Elrond and the other for Prince Legolas of Mirkwood." Leaping to his feet, the hobbit trotted to his bedroom and reappeared clutching two letters, both sealed with Bilbo's personal seal, addressed in Aragorn's handwriting, he put them into the elf's trembling hands.

Elrond ran his long fingers over the smooth parchment, tracing his name. He lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath. A little smile crept across his sad face, and his slipped it into his pocket. He placed the letter addressed to Legolas on the table.

"I want you to keep to your word, master hobbit, if you have heard nothing of Aragorn's fate after a year, then you must send this to Mirkwood. And I will open mine on the same terms."

Bilbo nodded.

* * *

The air was cold and crisp, the ground glistening with frost. All was calm again after a couple of days of turbulent weather; a storm had battered its way through the forest the night before and left a path of destruction. The elven prince sat high on his steed and scanned the area surrounding him; there were a few uprooted trees, but in such a densely packed wood, the break in the canopy would create new life where other life had been lost.

He was a quieter man now, no one bothered him until it was absolutely necessary, but for his father who remained his same demanding self. The months that had gone by had done much to sooth the hurts and rebuild the broken pieces. Estel was gone. That fact helped him rest more easily, despite the unexpected sadness it occasionally provoked. He had not left the borders of Mirkwood since his return, though sometimes he climbed the tallest tree until he could see over the forest rooftop. There he would stare out into the distance, often north to the Grey Mountains where his nightmare had begun. He knew it must have been something there that turned his friend to a monster. Estel was a honourable man. Gentle and kind. But he was a man, and the race of men were capable of terrible evils. Estel had first hand experience of that. And he had witnessed it and done nothing. Again and again this reasoning ran through his mind with no answer.

In his heart he wanted to forgive Estel, believing him incapable of such cruelty. Yet his friend had tortured him and planned his murder. He believed that he would have died in Imladris if they had not been discovered. He had put a knife in his best friend's gut because it was his only defence. His only hope of survival. That one moment of distraction had been his only chance and he took it. He felt no remorse. How could he?

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of raised voices.

"My Lord, there's a body in the river!" One of his companions cried.

Legolas was slow to react, and by the time he reached the bank, they had already pulled it from the water. There were two Orc arrows embedded in the back of this limp, cold figure.

"He's alive!" One shouted, pulling off his cloak to use as a blanket.

They looked up with grave faces. "It is Lord Estel."


	8. Demons

Okay, more regular, less regular, what can I say? It's hard getting computer time right now, in a few weeks I start new hours at work so hopefully I'll get more of a chance to write.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Demons 

He had shed his slippers. Where, he did not know, why, he could only guess. His feet, long and pale in the dappled daylight, were stained by the forest floor and were spoiling the stone floor he paced on. Legolas paused and let out a shaky breath. Spots appeared before his ice blue eyes and his head throbbed and it felt as if he hadn't breathed in an age. Back and forth in long strides, moving twenty feet down the hall and back once more. He had left the palace completely earlier and sobbed like a child in the seclusion of the forest.

He leant back against the timber-clad wall and slid limply down to the floor, sinking his head into his knees. He tried to catch his breath but his lungs felt untouched. Suffocating in his own fear.

How could this be?

Pulling out the crumpled letter he had kept with him since he first read it, he stared at it, looking at each word carefully. It was Elrohir's hand; that much was certain. But the words were a lie. Worthless. He closed his eyes and shredded it, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. The elf remained there, allowing the sounds of the healers trying to save the young human to wash over him. There was a sudden cry of agony that turned his blood to ice. He was conscious.

He felt sick.

"Legolas?" A familiar voice enquired softly.

He opened his eyes, red and puffy from his tears. "Tinehtele…"

Her gown was spattered with blood and grime, and she could only give an uncomfortable smile of sympathy. "We managed to remove the arrows. Orc arrows as you know are jagged; they cause a lot of damage. But by some miracle they missed his heart and lungs, it is also a miracle he didn't drown; from the state of his skin I would say he'd been in the water for days." She explained gently.

Legolas could only manage a weak nod.

"The cold nearly killed him, any longer would have." She tried again to gain a more telling response. "He has a fractured skull from a single blow to the front of his head." She watched the stillness of his face, no grief, devoid of emotion. "There is also fresh scarring on his stomach, a stab wound that did not heal well."

The elven prince closed his eyes, his body tensing even more if it was possible. Tinehtele noted it but did not speak. "So he lives." He murmured.

"He should be dead." She replied.

"But he isn't."

"What I mean is, I was told he was dead."

Legolas looked up at her, studied her sad flawless face for a moment and grimaced. "As was I."

"These past few weeks ha- I have not felt true grief before now." The healer began softly.

"Who told you? It did not pass my lips." He hissed.

"Lord Elrond wrote to me, he must have assumed you would have had the consideration to tell me."

"You forget yourself, I am prince and you are my subordinate, I tell you what I choose." He spat, climbing to his feet. "That man does not deserve your grief; he barely deserves your care. Leave us, I wish to speak with him alone."

"I am sorry, my Lord." Tinehtele replied stiffly. "The patient is unconscious; you will not be able to talk to him."

"I heard him scream…"

"It was a pain reflex, nothing more. He has a severe head injury; it could be hours, days, or even weeks before he wakes. I'm sorry."

Legolas waited outside until the other healers had finished dressing the young man's wounds and then waited some more long after they had gone. He stood in the doorway, peering warily into the unnaturally bright room; his old friend lay motionless in the centre. He looked so different. He looked so harmless. The elf took a few tentative steps toward him and paused a few feet away.

He didn't seem real.

The elf's heart thudded in his chest, his stomach was knotted up and his head reeled with conflicting emotions. He had never expected to see Estel again, but there he was, tranquil and vulnerable. Like a dormant volcano waiting to blow. He moved closer until he was bedside, near enough to watch the rise and fall of his chest, to look at his long eyelashes and wisps of chest hair escaping from beneath the bed sheets. There he was, the same as ever, but somehow a stranger. His thicker, scruffier beard aged him, but to Legolas, he still looked like the child he'd encountered in the darkness. He reached down and touched his cheek. Still as soft as it ever was. His hand snapped back, trembling.

He was real then.

Legolas' eyes moved to the human's forehead wrapped in bandages, the purple swathe of angry bruising continued over Estel's eyes and cheek, and he could only imagine the brutality and the force needed to cause such damage. Tinehtele was right; he should be dead.

"We never could meet in normal circumstances." The elf almost smirked.

Seeing his old friend was easier than he thought it would be. He was so still, so perfect. A head wound and two arrows in his back were almost normal for him. He hated Estel, he was sure he still felt that. But as he lay before him, helpless and lost, it was hard to do little else but pity him. The elf sat in a chair beside the bed and sank his head into his hands; he didn't know how to feel.

"I suppose that deep down I never truly believed you were dead." He murmured. "If I had thought about it, listened to my heart, I would have known you wouldn't die in such a manner; alone, a fugitive and in such mediocre circumstances. A fall? It did not seem fitting for you. I imagined you would fall fighting for a noble cause, perhaps alone but… But you lost your honour, why did I expect you to die with it?" He felt his rage rise once more. "You were supposed to be dead."

The prince fell silent once more. Running his fingers through his long hair, he tried to gather his thoughts, steady his breathing and control his anger. Anger, fury, wrath. Fear. Terror. He had never been truly afraid of anyone. Until Estel. Why, he didn't know. He could defeat Estel in a fair fight; he was stronger than him and smarter too. But, in his heart, he believed Estel would always win somehow. He didn't want to fight.

"I kept going because you were dead." Legolas murmured. "What do I do now?"

He slumped to the floor, resting his back against the bed. The lights around him flickered and a few blew out, leaning back, he allowed his eyes to wander thoughtlessly, and for a few minutes, or perhaps even a few hours, his exhausted mind was filled with emptiness.

"Do you know what it is like to be tortured, Estel?" He suddenly said, surprising himself with how loud his voice sounded.

He fell silent again, shoving his hand roughly into his golden locks. "Of course you do," He muttered angrily. "Ridiculous question… But not by someone you loved. Nor by someone you trusted above anyone else." His voice softened, weakening into a strangled whisper. "I loved you like a brother."

He let out a whimper. So wretched and meek, he barely recognised himself and tears began to tumble down his pale cheeks. Legolas watched them run to the tip of his nose and the curve of his chin and fall to the floor, listening to the steady tap tap tap as they landed. He wept silently, hiding his face with his hands, only the uncontrollable trembling of his body could give away his unusually fragile state. He suddenly leapt to his feet and composed himself, though he couldn't disguise his red puffy eyes or lose the sickening knot in his stomach, as the sound of light footsteps approached in the corridor.

"He is fine, Tinehtele, you should not have come."

She stared at him for a moment; the elf was faint in the unexpected dimness of the room. "He is a patient in need of constant monitoring, I only left because you ordered me to. It will not take long, and I will leave you alone again."

The elven prince said nothing, and simply shrugged. She approached the motionless form of Estel and Legolas stepped aside, turning his back to her and staring out into the forest as the first moments of dawn approached. Quietly, she tended to him and quietly he waited, and when she had finished, she turned and left without a word. He stood by the window for a few minutes, smoothing his long hair and rubbing his tear-filled eyes, and silently approached the door.

"Do you intend to stay there all night?" He asked dryly.

Tinehtele stepped into view, her eyes glued to the floor. "You said earlier that Estel did not deserve by grief or care." She murmured. "Why?"

Legolas stood tall and stern, their bodies close and nervous, but he did not reply. She glanced up at him, but he was not looking down at her, instead his gaze rested on the human that lay dangerously in the bed.

"What happened? They used to say that you and he were one, the man who had become an elf, and the elf that had become a man. And now I look into your eyes I see nothing but pain and fear… and hate. I never thought I would see that in your eyes again."

She saw the slight shudder in his body and felt the sudden tension grip his muscles.

"He betrayed me."

"How?"

"He…" Legolas bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly. "That wound on his stomach… that… I did that. I was protecting myself. I had to… I had no choice, it was he or I."

"Why?"

"…I don't know."

Tinehtele nodded gently and took his hand in hers for a moment, before leaving him alone. He watched her leave and followed her shadow as it faded and disappeared, and he was alone once more. A surge of rage and emotion pumped through him, his heart thundered and his lungs burned as his knees gave way beneath him.

"Each day I try to make sense of it all; it runs through my mind again and again until it all turns into a smear and I still cannot understand why you did it. What did I do to make you hate me?"

A pair of grey eyes blinked groggily, slowly focussing in the murky dawn light. Slowly focussing on the familiar figure at his side. Instantly freezing in his presence.

"Now that I think back, long and hard, it seemed so planned. Leading me off course, into unfamiliar territory, to that valley…" He spoke, and for a moment Estel thought that his old friend was talking to him, but his eyes were fixed on his feet. "I never suspected a thing. I was so worried about you; you were not yourself, but I never thought you would turn on me. And when you sat on my chest, and we looked into each other's eyes, I could not see you in them. In do not even remember how long it all lasted. When I woke up after you pushed me down, I hoped you had come to your senses, that you had attacked me in some feverish paranoia, but there you were, sitting a foot away, hard faced and unrecognisable. A second later you had your hand around my throat and squeezed until I blacked out again."

The human lay frozen in the bed, his stomach lurching at these new details, his lip quivering as a desperately mute tear slipped dangerously down his tender face.

"I woke with a fist clattering into my skull. And you hit and hit until your hands and face were spattered red. I remember lying on the ground, the dry grass scratching my neck, the force of your punches paralysed me; I could only lie there and take it. Suddenly you mounted my chest again, and took out a knife; my knife and started to scratch at my skin with the tip, ran your fingers along my wounds and smeared your skin with my blood like war paint. You leant closer until we were nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, and thigh-to-thigh. I could feel your breath hiss against my cheek, the warmth of your body against mine, your strength pinning me down; you were invincible. But after however long it was, it was a lifetime for me, I had that one split second, that sudden distraction, and you were careless, you left my knife beside me and I did the only thing I could; I stopped you. And the worst thing is that I have had to live with that guilt, I don't understand why it hurts so much that I did that… I was protecting myself; you were going to kill me! But I still feel sick at the thought of it, and I hate you for it!" He cried, looking up at the bed.

He froze. Two teary eyes shone brightly in the candlelight, not looking back at him, just staring at the ceiling. There was a moment where he couldn't move, as if time had stopped, his heart quickened and banged in his chest until his ears rang. Then clarity returned, and in a flash he was standing over Estel with a knife to his throat.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't end this now."

* * *

Toodles. 


	9. Crossroads

I'm writing this while watching the Eurovision Song Contest, and I'll tell you something – it never gets any less frightening. It's on mute and I'm still afraid. And after the new Cybermen on Doctor Who, the Big Brother contestants and singing klingons, I have a stomach ulcer.

Picked up on this again after weeks of neglect. Just saw PotC 2, too funny.

Not going back to the anti-American thing, but as a front line worker to a tourist spot, would it kill you to be a little more self-sufficient? I mean if you want to see something in the building gallery, instead of coming over and asking where it is, why don't you look at the giant sign that says "Gallery"? You're the politest tourists in the world, I grant you that, but matching Hawaiian shirts etc? Only Americans. And what's the pull of the Magna Carta? It's an important document of British history only… maybe I'm a philistine but I don't quite get the fascination.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Crossroads**

The world stopped.

Silence filled the room.

Estel continued to stare at the ceiling, seemingly calm as the cold steel rested on his skin. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The elf waited, watching steadily, detached from it all.

Then it all changed.

The human blinked, and his gaze was suddenly upon Legolas. His blood ran cold. Those eyes; they had darkened, like the most ominous of storm clouds, but how those emerald glints shone through; it was as if he were a child again. More captivating than ever, the elf thought, but no laughter anymore. It felt like an age had passed since he last looked into those eyes; when it only took a sly side-glance to leave him giggling like a child; so earnest; just by looking in them you knew you could trust him. That trust burned bright in those murky pools, but Legolas was not willing to accept it. His whole body began to shake, the blade in his hand pressed tightly against Estel's flesh until it drew a hot streak of crimson, yet still the human did not speak. Legolas felt as if his whole head were about to explode, as tears rushed to his eyes but would not fall and his lungs emptied into his closed mouth; he erupted with a pained yelp, the knife in his hand clattered on the floor as he jumped back.

"Guards!" He yelled, still staring at the young man as they entered a few moments later. "Restrain him!"

The elves glanced at the prince, and then at the human who looked back at them with sad acceptance. Hesitantly, they approached the bed and bound the offered hands of the man they had all drunk wine and shared stories with only a few months ago, to the bed. No one spoke throughout, and as the last knot was tied at Estel's ankle, a tear ran down his face. They left, leaving the pair alone once more.

"You are going to rot in the deepest chamber of this place. Everyone thinks you're dead; you will die alone this time."

* * *

Spring had finally jolted into bloom in Mirkwood, but a cloud hung heavily over all who dwelled there. Almost a month had passed since Estel had arrived and the tension beneath the gnarled boughs was overwhelming. Tinehtele had refused Legolas' order to have the prisoner moved to the dungeons, stoutly arguing that the healers could not adequately treat Estel's injuries in the dank conditions, and the elf had irritably given in. He could not kill unless in self-defence. The arrows that they had pulled from his back were poisoned, and for a fortnight the human was too weak to even move his head, simply murmuring the same words; _In ourselves our enemies come forth, and justice be served upon them. _Again and again he repeated it, alternating between elvish and the common tongue. Legolas had not returned to the human's bedside, in fact the only acknowledgement toward Estel he made was to ask if he was well enough to be moved to the dungeons, and when Tinehtele attempted to explain he simply walked away.

The third week after Legolas had ordered Estel's arrest, he was summoned to his father's halls. The younger elf entered with a mixture of apprehension and determination. He had found Thranduil sitting regally at his desk and had to wait a few minutes before he stopped signing treaties or directives and looked up. Still, the elven king did not immediately speak, but took a moment to scan his son's fair features; he was a different person to the one of a year ago. He had not bothered to look or ask what had changed him. He was just different. No longer a wanderer, and that pleased him so much that didn't want to know why.

"Your friend," He began, studying Legolas' reactions.

"Yes?" He replied impassively.

"This Estel of Imladris," Thranduil continued, unable to disguise the distain in his voice. "He was a guest in my domain not long ago, now he is a prisoner. Would you like to elaborate?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Then release him to his elven family at once." His father growled, losing patience.

"I cannot do that." Legolas' voice faltered.

"What did he do to you?" The older elf asked with a sudden softness.

"…He betrayed me."

Thranduil remained silent, pursing his thin lips as he visibly mulled it over. "There will be much wrangling with his foster family; they will not tolerate any punishment without trial."

"There will be no wrangling, father; they think he is dead."

The king paused, glanced up at his son and went back to his papers. "There will have to be a trial; he has betrayed a prince and that is treason, and the penalty for treason is death."

Legolas froze. "Father…"

But Thranduil was not listening, and he knew that his mind was made up, and no amount of arguing would change it.

With an unexpected urgency, Legolas made his way to the healing chamber, making Tinehtele jump.

"I need to speak with him."

"What is the matter, my lord? You look ill, can I get you anything?" She steadied herself, concerned at the pale appearance of the elf.

"I am fine, is he well? I need to talk to him, it is a matter of urgency." He muttered, trying to peer through the crack of the door.

"He is asleep, he has slept almost every minute he has been here."

The fair prince blinked uneasily. "Is that normal?"

"He suffered heavy trauma to his head; people react in different ways. If you do not mind me saying; he is in a frightening situation, perhaps his body is trying to protect itself."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "By sleeping?"

"Maybe his dreams feel like a safer place to be in."

"Not if they are they same he used to have." He murmured under his breath. "Has he said anything?"

Tinehtele paused. "Not a word. But like I said, he has been asleep most of the time."

Legolas entered the room tentatively. He had almost forgotten how terrified he had been last time, and felt his heart quicken. There he was, in the same spot, still and silent. He sat in the carved wooden chair, his fingers gripping at the arms tensely as he watched Estel sleep for a while. The human's eyes suddenly blinked open and fixed unnervingly upon the fair-haired elf.

"Close the door." Estel said commandingly.

The elf flinched at his voice but did not move and raised his eyebrow scornfully.

"I… this was never supposed to happen, Legolas. My intention was to leave you in peace and never contact you again. But it seems fate disagrees."

"Fate did not bring you here. You were in those mountains again, and careless as ever, you were caught. Those injuries would have killed anyone else." He spat.

"I was looking for answers… I needed to remember… to know-" The mortal began, his full lips trembling.

He wavered, studying his old friend carefully. The bandages from his head had been removed, so he could finally see him fully for the first time in half a year. His forehead was blemished with bruising, but that was hardly uncommon for him, but there was only the merest hint of change about him and that was his presence; grim did not quite describe it accurately enough. Defeated, perhaps.

"…And did you find any?"

Estel looked away, his cheeks reddened like they did when he was a boy. "I asked you to close the door because I want to give you some sort of explanation. I want to tell you, as best I can, what happened in the Grey Mountains."

Legolas stared at him, his stomach tied in knots. "Tell me then." He murmured as he pushed the heavy door shut.

"It- I don't know where to begin now."

"Where did you go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere beneath the mountain, I think."

"How did you get there?"

"I don't know."

The elf wrung his hands together agitatedly. "How can you not know? You must remember something! There were no tracks, no signs of a struggle, nothing, why?"

"I don't know, Legolas. I just found myself in some kind of underground chamber. I think it was Orcish. But there were no orcs there. There was nothing. Just drums."

"Drums?"

"Drums." Estel repeated hazily, as his eyes seemed to cloud over and lose focus. "And suddenly my body was on fire. Like the blood in my veins was acid, I've not known pain like it. When I woke, drums. Drums. I tried to escape, but there was no way out. No route in the blackness. I was so afraid, Legolas more frightened than I would expect myself to be. When I blinked or rested my eyes, I was almost too scared to open them again. Then…" He trailed off, closing his eyes tightly as a tear managed to escape. "I ended up the same place I started, I was so angry, so frustrated. I had nothing. No protection. Nothing. And then I heard him. His voice in the cave. In my head."

"Who?" He asked tentatively, his hostility weakening.

"I… him. C-Carinyc. He was there."

"He's dead, Estel."

"No, I-I know, I know. But he was there. At first I could only hear him, repeating the first things he ever said to me, again and again until my head felt like it was about to explode. I wouldn't listen. They couldn't make me-"

"Who's 'they' Estel? Who did this to you?"

"I don't know. They didn't have faces, I could just hear them talking, they were chanting things, I wouldn't listen, it was just noise. Suddenly I couldn't just hear him; I could feel him. The heat of his breath on my throat. I was back. Back in that forest, only I didn't kill him. I couldn't stop him. H-he did what he kept threatening to do. And he did it again and again. For days. It never ceased. I could feel everything." He paused, turning his head away. "Not just the pain, but the fear, the spasms of his stomach as he laughed at me. I had to relive my worst fear countless times. And you watched me."

"What? What do you mean I watched you?"

"You were there. Laughing with him, you held me down as he… You were the one who led me to him. It was you." Estel said firmly.

Hurt, anger, confusion erupted in the elf's mind. He felt ill. "Do you believe that?"

"No." He replied quickly.

"Have you ever believed that?"

"Yes… Once as a child, and then again after the mountain." The human replied honestly.

"You thought… I thought you trusted me." Legolas hissed.

"I do. With my life. But I was a terrified little boy, they told me that you sprung the trap and I didn't know what to believe. I soon realised they were lying."

"You couldn't really have believed that, you must have still distrusted me. Why else would you doubt me a second time?"

"Because you were there! Standing there, laughing at me, you were there! He was there, I was there and you were helping him! It was real, it was all so real! And you were going to do it again, torture and humiliate me, that's why we were in the mountains. You were leading me to my doom and I had to stop you, to show you the pain you caused."

Legolas stared at him, holding unbroken eye contact with him for the first time. He stared into the human's deep silvery eyes as they shimmered with hot salty tears.

"Are you well?" He asked abruptly.

"What?"

"Are you well? Can you stand? Are you fit again?" The elf elaborated agitatedly.

Estel furrowed a brow, watching his old friend struggle with his composure. "I feel well enough now. I cannot give you an answer in regards to my fitness, I have not stood up in weeks."

He nodded furiously. "And the voices, do you still hear them?"

"No." He replied quietly.

Legolas paused, glancing over his shoulder for any unwelcome visitors. "I will return in a few hours, it will be a long night."

He left the puzzled human without another word and returned to his rooms. Sitting on his bed, his mind swirled uncomfortably as he rubbed his clammy temples with his shaking hands. Taking a deep, calming breath, the elf found his old travelling sack and began to fill it with warm clothes, food and a flask. The elven prince disappeared from the palace, his sack slung over his shoulder, slipping into the anonymity of the dark forest. Sitting in the boughs, he waited silently for dusk, and then nervously for total darkness to fall. He listened as dinner was served and the voice of his father who sounded as if he were in a particularly robust mood. The sound of music and festivities and merry singing washed over him as the time ticked slowly by until eventually it all quietened down, and watched as all the lights slowly went out.

Noiselessly, he slipped down the rough bark, his feet crunching in the undergrowth. Though spring had arrived, the night air was bitter and frost shimmered on the forest floor, and Legolas knew it was an inopportune night for this folly, but time was short and tonight could be their only chance.

He entered silently, watching his old friend lying on the bed. He was impossibly still; even his chest appeared immune to the rise and fall of life, his eyes focussed like arrows to the ceiling.

"It is time."

Estel's head turned slowly to look at the fair elf, his face fixed and neutral. "Are you to be my executioner?" He asked without a hint of emotion.

The words hit Legolas hard, harder than he would have expected. It was as if the bones in his legs had melted beneath him as the piercing gaze of his captive bored into his flesh. "No."

The human's eyes lingered upon his elven opposite, until eventually drifting away. "I think I would prefer it be you who ended this, it seems only right."

"No one is to end your life."

"Oh? The penalty of treason is death."

"That is why I am releasing you before my father's will is applied." Legolas murmured.

Estel turned quickly to look at him. "I accept my fate. Let me face the consequences of my betrayal instead of running again."

"You will turn down the chance of life?"

"It is justice." He replied calmly.

"It is folly."

The young man looked at him, his faced etched with disbelief. "It is what I deserve."

"Perhaps. But the man I knew has fought with every inch of his being, until the last moment, when anyone else would have lost faith, for the right to continue living, and now you will give it up all so easily?"

"It is no one's right to live, Legolas. Why do you fight when I have done such wrong?

"Because I cannot live with your blood on my hands." The elf replied with quiet honesty.

Their eyes met, wet with tears. "And why do you think I can live with yours on mine?"

"What is going on?" A voice from the door asked.

"Go back to your room, Tinehtele, this is no concern of yours." The prince ordered.

She stood still, her blue robe draped over her willowy frame. Legolas took a few steps toward the bed and sliced through the bindings. Estel didn't move as he felt the blood rushing back into his limbs.

"Go. I will not be able to stop my father."

"I don't want you to!" He hissed, sitting up.

"There is nothing you can do to make me truly forgive you, but you have to live on. This is not your fate, Aragorn. You survived against all odds for a reason, please, just go."

He stared at the elf silently, as his tears began to flow heavily. "Do not cast me away."

"Do not make me watch your execution."

"Go back to bed, Tinehtele, for your own safety, have no part in this." The weeping man whispered.

"You are doing the right thing, Estel, the world is a better place with you alive, no matter what has happened."

Legolas nodded with relief, and passed him his clothes. He struggled a little, but the prince did not try to help him, instead waiting patiently and handing him his pack. They walked in tandem together, neither speaking a word. Tears rolled down the human's sun scorched skin as he moved, his eyes never leaving the floor. They met no guards, Legolas had made sure of that, and in minutes they were in the relative security of the woods. They stopped and the trees seemed to suck the noise of the night out of the air, and only the sound of their nervous breathing punctured it.

With a sharp intake of air, the immortal placed a sheath into the mortal's palm. Silence endured. The sound of the cold steel slipping from its case pierced the hush, and Legolas caught the glint of the human's eyes as moonlight met the blade. Estel glanced at the elf's hand as it shifted cautiously to the hilt of his sword. Closing his eyes, he returned the knife to its owner.

"It is for your protection." Legolas urged.

Estel shook his head. "And this is for yours. I am not sure I trust myself yet."

The elf frowned, but said nothing.

"I expect I will never see you again. I hope that in our happier times together I taught you to live life richly, and you will continue to do that. I am truly sorry, my old friend." He said quietly, and strode sadly into the blackness of Mirkwood as his fond foe watched.

* * *

TBC.

It is a little rushed, but it was supposed to feel hurried. So it is a kind of flaw/tone balance. I want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their continuing support as I slowly muddle through this mire of a plot. It's a bit like PotC 2, I didn't get some of it, but I still bloody well enjoyed it, so I hope you feel the same.


	10. The Morning After

Hello all, it's been a while. I've been away from sunny (well, cold, rainy flood ridden really) England for a number of months, working with bears and children (not at the same time..) in South America. I am unfortunately back now though, so if there's anyone who has had the patience to stick with this story it can now continue. I am a little rusty, and I've lost all my notes (fantastic) so bear with me as I sort out the future of the story, but here's something to go on at least…

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Morning After**

He stumbled blindly in the dark, scraping his hand against the rough bark as he tried to regain his balance. He could barely see more than a few feet ahead of him, such was the all consuming blackness around him. It was almost a full moon tonight, yet barely a sliver of light made it through the dense canopy, and so on he moved, slowly and clumsily. The healing wound on his stomach ached with the new strain and his legs wobbled with exhaustion. Two hours had past and he could go no further. His lungs heaved and his limbed throbbed painfully, twice he had tripped and twisted his ankle and there seemed little option than to wait until first light to continue. Estel slumped down against the thick of trunk of a gnarled old tree, the cool damp ground stung his burning skin as he caught his breath.

A few minutes ticked by and Estel sat silently, his eyes closed as the few noises of the forest surrounded him. A bird whistled in the distance and his eyes shot open. The song rang around him and he rose to his feet, weaving through the trees to find the source, but he could see nothing. The soft chatter continued, and he followed it, as if in a trance, moving gracefully in the undergrowth without a sound.

* * *

Dawn awoke in the land. A new day, and after the night before, Legolas hoped it would bring a break in the clouds. Mist clung to the forest floor, the undergrowth awash with this eerie flood. The air hung still and the sun stagnated above the swathes of low cloud, leaving Mirkwood in a curious, almost dreamlike state. The elf sat silently as it slowly brightened, listening to the birds in the gardens as they arose with the morning sun, and yet despite the tranquillity, trepidation hung suffocatingly over him. He had wandered back to his rooms after the human had evaporated into the night and taken refuge on the balcony that overlooked his kingdom and stared out bleakly, mapping the path he expected Estel to take. It would not be long before the peace was punctured and pandemonium set in. His father would be livid, Tinehtele perhaps would be severely censured and the guards that he had sent away would most likely be dismissed. Should he confess, or feign ignorance and apologise for the incompetence on his part? He could not be dismissed or heavily punished, he was crown prince and therefore essentially above the law; and faced only his father's wrath, though that was a daunting prospect in its self. 

A few more minutes ticked by, the change of guard was due any moment and the alarm would be raised. A mistake on his part. He had sent away the guards in order to speak with the prisoner alone and forgotten to recall them, and Estel had taken advantage of the opportunity. It would suffice if he could keep a sincere face throughout; his father could usually tell if he was lying, unless he didn't want to know. Legolas turned and scuttled back into his room, preferring not to listen to the panicked whispers and silent summoning of the guards. He lay on his bed, uncurling his spine and stared patiently at the ceiling. Perhaps they already knew, the guards, no matter how loyal, may have returned to duty before now. But he was royalty, and his word must be followed without question.

There was a loud thud on the door that shook the elf from his thoughts and he looked over but said nothing. He had waited all night for this, counting the footsteps of his old friend, he would be miles away by now, but traceable, had search parties already been dispatched? Had he left a trail? He must have, it was a dark night, his legs were weak; capture would be swift.

"Enter."

The towering presence of Elerosse, chief of the guards, stepped inside, his face was stern and accusing. Legolas held his suspicious gaze defiantly; the pair disliked one another and often quarrelled when out of the king's presence. He didn't trust him; too often he had been the unquestioning aggressor in needless conflicts at the whim of his father when he could easily have dissuaded him.

"Yes?" The prince uttered flatly.

"Your friend has escaped, my lord."

The fair elf looked down at the floor for a second before restoring eye contact with Elerosse. "He is no friend of mine."

He took a moment to reply, as if analysing his words. "Whatever he is to you, he has still escaped, and you sent the guards away last night; is that correct?"

"Yes. I wished to speak to him privately."

Elerosse's eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "And you did not recall them?"

"No."

"May I ask why?"

He didn't reply, and instead sunk into his bed, closing his eyes as he listened to the irritated breathing of the other elf. He didn't know how to reply.

"Should I take that as an admission of guilt?" He smirked.

"Define guilt, guard." The prince murmured. "In my experience guilt has never been an concern to you when dishing out punishment."

"Where is he?"

"Define guilt, Elerosse. What was he guilty of? Can someone commit treason when in the throes of madness?"

"Your father charged him with treason, that is enough for me." He replied gruffly, growing impatient.

"And I pardoned him, that should be enough for you too."

"Only the king can pardon a prisoner. You forget your place."

"And you forget yours. I will tell you nothing." Legolas spat.

"Tell me where he is heading or I will arrest you for aiding a traitor!" He growled, drawing his sword.

"Lower your sword, I am not accountable to the likes of you." Legolas hissed, jumping to his feet.

"Then you will answer to the king."

Legolas stood passively as his father narrowed his eyes, his piercing glare made his hair stand on end. Elerosse stood beside Thranduil, whispering hurriedly with him as guards flanked the elven prince. He was beginning to wish he had denied everything and sacrificed the sentries he dismissed instead, and on judging his father's expression, he perhaps had overestimated his position. Maybe he would find himself locked in the deep dungeons of Mirkwood before the day was out. It no longer mattered. He had played his hand; there was no turning back now.

He suddenly realised that the room had fallen silent, his eyes drifted back to the figures that stood before him, and away once more. The hall was wreathed in the glories of springtime, with garlands of snowdrops and blossoms and long banners of green and yellow celebrated the end of another winter, but there was no joy in this place. His cheeks burned with fury and his hands trembled in shock, rising to his feet, the king stepped forward until he was barely a foot away, and loomed over his first-born. Legolas' eyes met with the same ice blue ones of Thranduil's, before he quickly looked away. Without warning, the back of his father's hand connected with his jaw and left him reeling.

It had shocked everyone, even Elerosse, and Legolas stumbled backward, blood dripping from his mouth.

"My son – a traitor?" He raged.

"Ada-"

"No!" He cried. "You would choose him over your king? Over your own father?"

The elf looked up at him, they looked so alike that it felt as if he had struck himself. "I act on what my heart tells me, and in this case, yes, I would choose Estel over you."

Thranduil glowered, and with a cry he swept his breakfast off the table, sending plates and goblets clattering to the floor. Legolas had forgotten what a frightening force the king was when in one of his rages, and backed away, but he would not escape his wrath so easily and was struck again on the jaw. This time he lost his footing and went sprawling down onto the cool flagstones, his fair hair sprayed across his face and for a moment time seemed to stop, the guards rushed to help the prince to his feet but were waved away. He quickly rose to his feet, a little shaken; in all the disagreements and fights he had endured with his temperamental father, neither had ever been violent to one another.

"Perhaps now you will remember whom you serve." The king growled.

Legolas turned to his father, who was closer than he expected, and spat at him. "I serve no one."

Blood and saliva trickled down Thranduil's face, he watched his son turn away from him in disgust, and the uncomfortable hush returned. After a time, he ordered that everyone leave bar Legolas, and father and son were left alone. The prince had retreated to a chair beside the fire, where he sat wiping the crimson streaks off his chin with his sleeve, staring into the flames intently in an attempt to keep some composure. The older elf watched him for a few minutes, and dabbed his face with his handkerchief. Looking down at the bloodstains, he frowned and slowly approached his son.

"You have never had the stomach for war." He murmured gently.

"I have never let you down in a battle, father. Not even in your needless wars." Legolas replied sharply.

The king scowled at his son, who rarely challenged his authority. "There are no needless wars."

"There are many and I will no longer sit passively by as you start another with our own kin."

"I am starting no war, my son, I am simply carrying out justice."

"Justice?" The wood elf spat, rising to his feet. "You know nothing of justice. You would not act so rashly if he were not of mortal blood."

"An elf would not betray his own kind."

"You have elf-blood on your hands as well as enemies'. Estel was driven mad by some force, he was not responsible for what he did to me." He replied quietly.

"And he told you that did he? Or did that nurse make up that excuse? She has had a weakness for that boy since the moment she saw him; you cannot trust anything she says – she said he was too weak to be imprisoned; yet he strolls out of my kingdom under our noses. You and that girl have made a fool out of me, I have half a mind to charge you both with treason!"

"Charge me with what you wish, but Tinehtele has committed no crime. Estel is still weak, but I feared I was running out of time. He has acted wrongfully toward me, but I will not let my anger turn to spite. I will not let your pride and aversion to him end his life - I will not have his blood on my hands, that is why I pushed him out against his will."

"End his life? Is that the only reason you released him? Because I would punish him with death?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Would you stop your madness if I let you pass sentence on him instead?"

Legolas met his father's gaze in confusion. "You would let me decide his punishment?"

"If it meets with my approval." He backtracked a little.

"And what would you approve?"

The elf pondered over this for a moment. "I will not enforce a death sentence."

He stared at his father for sometime, thrown by his sudden departure from the norm. These terms were reasonable, especially for his usually obstinate father, that he almost couldn't believe he was being honest. The prince returned to his seat beside the fire, staring at the floor as Thranduil waited quietly, but as the time passed, impatience began to fill the air.

Legolas sighed, slumping his head into his hands. "He is following the river downstream. I hired one of the river men to give him passage." He muttered. "If he is captured, he will be in my custody, and no others. Is that clear?"

Thranduil smiled, and nodded contently. "Elerosse!" The heavy door swung open robustly, and the guard stepped inside. "He is following the river. Have your men scour the area, I want him alive and untouched."

The prince watched the brute of an elf charge off, hailing his army and felt his heart skip a beat. The bitter taste of blood still lingered on his tongue and his lip throbbed uncomfortably, he approached his satisfied looking father.

"And father, strike me once more, and you will not see my face in this land again." He murmured darkly, and made his way out of the hall.

"Where are you going?" Thranduil called out, apparently unmoved.

"To hunt. I will return in a day or so, see that he is treated correctly."

The king frowned, watching his son stroll out. "Take Amras with you… it is not safe."

Legolas paused, and looked back. "As you wish, father."

* * *

"Amras, be at ease. There is no danger here." Legolas uttered irritably. 

"But your father… the King, the escape…"

"My father l- my father is overreacting. Elerosse is tracking him as we speak and we are going in the opposite direction; he is no threat."

"But, how do you know? How would you know what path he took?" He asked, still holding his bow tightly.

The prince turned to the younger elf, but did not make eye contact. "Because I am the one who sent him on that path. Why would he stray?"

Amras stared boldly at him, but there was no suspicion in his eyes. He was a distant and essentially unimportant relative, employed by his father as a companion for his children, yet the two hundred or so years between their births could have been an age such was the difference in their manners. Legolas was not particularly fond of him; he was too devoted to Thranduil and was therefore always careful with his words around him.

"Shall we continue, or would you rather continue jumping at your own shadow? We are on the main path, if Estel were here then he has lost his head." He raised an eyebrow, trying to remain light hearted, but the company was growing bothersome.

"Yes, my lord, of course. What is our prey today?" He asked cheerily.

"Anything that crosses my path."

The pair rode along the main track for another hour or so until it became wilder and less defined. It had been a quiet hour, with Legolas in no mood to chat to the elf, still irked that his solitude had been stolen. Amras was also peculiarly chirpy; he had always been light hearted and therefore pleasant company, but he was whistling and smiled broadly every time Legolas glanced in his direction. He was nervous, the prince concluded. But why? He had no doubt that his father had insisted he bring Amras with him not because he feared for his son's safety, but because he did not trust his son; yet he had nothing to arouse his cousin's suspicion, nor make him anxious. He doubted whether he had ever been asked to actively spy on someone though, and the pressure of it all was getting to him. A crow shrieked from the gnarled branches of a nearby oak, causing Legolas' companion to jump, upsetting his horse.

"Amras, what is the matter?" He rolled his eyes. "Why does the slightest noise have you wanting to flee for the hills?"

"It does not, cousin, there is nothing wrong." He replied, pushing his hand through his dark blond mane.

"You are anxious of something, and the horses are becoming agitated. It is hardly ideal to hunt with frightened elves and steeds."

"With respect, I may be a little on edge but you are so wound up that I think you may burst." Amras retorted, finding his nerve once more.

Legolas cocked an eyebrow; he did not like to be talked back to by a younger member of his family. "Any tension I feel is from the company I keep." He snapped petulantly as he dismounted.

The pair continued to bicker for a number of minutes, both forgetting their positions and becoming squabbling elflings again. Such was the intensity of their petty quarrel that neither noticed that they were no longer alone, and two pairs of eyes were watching them with surprise.

"I apologise for the intrusion-"

Legolas and Amras fell silent immediately, and turned to look at the familiar riders just a few yards away. The prince stared at them as if frozen by the shock, and the group stood in an awkward hush.


	11. A Joyful Reunion

What can i say? I am a terrible person. I could say that a new job takes up all your time, but I still find time to try and master baseball on the Wii (tis bloody hard!) and mess about on facebook like a numpty, so I won't bother. I will try to be more consistant, but I confess I have not written a word of the next chapter yet.

Anyway, a special thank you to Thorongirl to has agreed to fix my terrible grammar, so all complaints of that nature should be directed to that lovely lady, while grumbles about plot etc will be ignored by myself. Thanks for sticking with me, I feel we're all growing together as a family. Of sorts.Happy New Year everyone!

**Chapter Eleven: A Joyful Reunion **

A silence engulfed them. The forest offered no twitter or crackle of breeze to ease the uncomfortable hush that surrounded them like a suffocating grip. One elf failed to look at the other, and with each painful second, the deep vacuum of noise and affection and trust choked them until they eventually began to realise their places. Legolas turned to the newly arrived pair, unsure of how long had passed between the last spoken word and the ones trying to emerge from his mouth, and cleared his throat.

"My lords… we were not expecting you, I am sorry." He managed to croak, embracing both elves tentatively.

"Not at all, we sent no word. We left our home with some urgency. The forest is very quiet today; we had not expected our first encounter to be with you." Elladan replied politely.

He continued to gape at them as if in a trance. "I apologise, our guards must have been called elsewhere… there is trouble in the east."

"What brings you on this hurried journey, my lords? I hope it is not ill news that drives you." Amras enquired.

The brothers turned to look at the other elf, as if they had forgotten about his presence. "We seek Prince Legolas' and the King's counsels only, our business is urgent but not grave."

Legolas nodded, as he gradually regained his composure. "I am glad to receive you; Amras, please inform my father of Elladan's and Elrohir's arrival and have rooms set up for our guests, they have had a long journey," he ordered.

"I had intentions to hunt today and perhaps if you are not too weary, you will join me for the afternoon. It has been too long… friends." He spoke gently, holding their gazes intently.

The brothers looked at him for a moment, unsure of how to react; in their rush they had forgotten the delicacy of this meeting. Elrohir smiled and nodded, patting his horse on the neck. "We are quite refreshed at seeing you once more. We would be delighted to accompany you."

Their gazes remained fixed on one another and all felt Amras' eyes burning in their skin. "Good, it is settled then. We should return this evening, but if my companions are willing, we will camp tonight." Legolas announced nonchalantly.

Amras did not move, looking between the trio with a badly concealed look of panic. "I- your father bid me to stay with you, it is not safe."

"I will not be alone and there is no danger here; any danger is to the east. My father will be very displeased if he is not informed of our guests' presence; he does not like surprises," he replied authoritatively.

Amras nodded quickly, grasping the reins of his horse so tightly that his knuckles were white, before mounting, still nodding. Legolas watched the elf gallop away, and quickly mounted his own steed. "Shall we?"

The twins nodded apprehensively and followed their old friend's lead, riding for another ten minutes or so until they moved off the trail into the gloom of less explored parts of the woods. Eventually Legolas slowed and eased his horse to a halt; he slid off effortlessly and scoured the surrounding area for any unwanted company. He wandered for a few minutes, avoiding eye contact with his two new companions, his heart pounded and palms sweated, as he took the last moments to desperately pull his emotions together before he returned for the inevitable conversation. The Rivendell elves stayed beside the horses, waiting for him to return knowing full well that there was no one listening in the trees, but were thankful for a final few moments to work out what they would say. The fair elf eventually returned once he had run out of places to pretend to scout.

"Legolas, we came-"

"To tell me your foster brother is not as dead as you once thought." He murmured with a hiss.

They stood agape for a moment. "He has been in contact?" One managed to stutter.

"Oh yes." Legolas answered with almost a chuckle. "He arrived as only Estel can- face down in the river with an arrow in the back. Quite an entrance I assure you and quite a shock for me."

They could not help but smile with relief. "I am sorry, we had been living on a hope only, I am sorry you had to encounter him with no warning."

"No warning would have made seeing him any easier." His voice failed and managed only a pained whisper.

"Yes, of course." I am sorry. My father has found evidence of some sort of dark power in the mountains, something that has made others act out of character. I believe this force altered his mind. Estel would not harm a hair on your head if he were himself, I honestly believe that."

The prince looked at Elladan for a moment, and glanced to his brother who had not yet spoken. "I know. Estel tried to explain his actions… as best as he could, and I understand a little now." He replied quietly.

A hush returned, edgy but bearable as both parties reflected on these revelations. The bitter anger that Legolas had left in had diminished greatly but had not disappeared and he was not one who forgave easily.

"How is he?" The elder twin asked suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Crippled with guilt." He answered quickly. "Older." He murmured in an afterthought.

"And his behaviour? Was he…?"

"He was his old self, well almost; I wouldn't have helped him escape otherwise."

Elrohir's eyes shot up. "He has gone? When? Why escape?"

"Last night; he is the trouble in the east. He was under arrest for treason and facing death, I was not prepared to allow that. I have admitted my guilt, and my father promised that if I told them where he was then I could choose his punishment. I love my father, but I do not trust him. If they catch him, he will die. I told him that Estel was following the river downstream."

"That would be the most logical route."

"It is."

"But you know where he is going?" Elladan leaned in, touching his old friend's shoulder.

"I spotted his trail not far from here, he has had about nine hours head start, but he is not fit and travelled through the night. I doubt he has managed to hide much; it would be impossible in his state and in the darkness. I do not think he has gotten far, so we must get to him before they discover my lies. If we find him, then you must lead him to safety, I want nothing more to do with him."

The twins watched one another as they mounted their steeds, both in a daze from the sudden developments. Their brother lived. But now if they did not find him it was likely he would be taken from them again. Their brother's closest friend, became his enemy, became his saviour, but will would soon relinquish their kinship forever. By following Legolas, they would be acting against their ally, something that could be seen by Thranduil as an act of war. What now for the crown prince of Mirkwood? Would he be forced now into exile, or forgiven, or would he face the full wrath of his father? And Estel- what fate awaited this boy? This man. Would he want to see them? Would he embrace or shun them? Would they embrace or shun him? These questions were irrelevant until they found him, and that would surely not take long, but until that time they would follow Legolas and wait to see how their heart would respond to the sight of his fair face.

They rode for an hour or so, until Legolas drew to a halt, looking around irritably. He slid to the ground and took a few paces forward, before stopping once more. Elrohir, followed by his brother, joined their companion's side, staring at the ground and glancing amongst the trees.

"I have lost his trail. It just seems to stop." He muttered.

"Maybe he did not travel any further." Elladan suggested.

"He rested here, but it just seems to disappear after that, as if suddenly he has rediscovered his skill, or decided to fly the rest of the way."

"I would put nothing past that boy." Elrohir smiled.

"I would put that ability past even him." He hissed humourlessly, and stalked off into the trees.

After half an hour of meticulous examination of every bent branch, fallen leaf and scuffed earth, the trio returned to their horses, frustrated.

"If we have not taken a wrong turn, then he is better than I ever gave him credit for." Elladan murmured.

"We have taken no wrong path; you have examined the tracks yourself."

"It is possible that dawn came and he could choose his steps more carefully. He is not the clumsy child we dismiss him as anymore." The ebony haired elf reasoned.

Legolas stood silently as the debate continued; a very gentle wind stirred a couple of hairs on his brow and he listened to the faint whistle of birdsong in the distance. Mirkwood was a quiet, still place. Little penetrated the claustrophobic canopy; a life of gloominess and all consuming darkness. Light and beauty and song in this place was scarce, and limited to the palace and the surrounding gardens. Only evil things lurked this far off the road, yet there was that soft bird chime again, like a beacon bidding him closer. Without a word, he climbed on his horse once more and urged it to follow the song. The twins glanced at each other and hurriedly followed him, riding into the denser undergrowth, ducking beneath the twisting old vines.

Hours passed and Legolas continued to ignore the questions posed to him, and instead focussed on the birdsong that drifted through the mist. It was growing louder and clearer now, as if he were getting closer to home. They had travelled a great distance in the space of half a day, much further than anyone could have walked on foot. Light was trickling away as the day grew older, and to their surprise they realised that the trees were beginning to thin and they could make out the sound of the river in the distance. This was surely impossible;. Mirkwood was a vast and hostile mass of forest - mile upon mile of dense foliage with few paths, and certainly not a place you could cross in the space of twelve hours. Yet, despite dusk approaching, it was becoming brighter as daylight finally began to break through the receding canopy. The oddness of this occurrence coupled with the strange silence of their old friend who appeared to be leading them nowhere in particular and seemingly further from their objective. Estel seemed as far away as ever and frustration began to increase within them.

"Legolas! Please, just stop and tell us what you're doing."

"I have found your brother." He murmured, and pointed to the figure in the distance.

The twins dismounted and staggered forward. There he was. The river drifted slowly by about five hundred yards ahead, and there, waist deep in the water, stood their lost brother. The sun was setting behind him and bathed him in a golden haze; his torso bore the fresh scars as a painful reminder of why he had fled all those months ago.

They moved toward him slowly in a stunned silence, tears ran down Elrohir's pale face as he glanced at Elladan, before turning back apprehensively, as if he expected this to be some cruel apparition, but he remained in the same spot, oblivious to the approaching duo. The water rippled around him and danced down his skin in streams from his dark locks. The curl in his hair had finally been lost, and was now only set with a few loose waves; his beard had grown into an unkempt mess that made him look wild and roguish. He did look older, but then, they had never gotten used to how quickly a mortal aged; Estel seemed to change by the hour.

Estel turned suddenly and froze. Elrohir smiled and let out a strange whimper that pierced the hush, but he remained still and silent, only shifting his gaze downward. The mortal's cheeks burned with a fury, and lit up his face exactly as it had done when he was just a boy.

"Estel?" Elladan began with a shaky murmur.

"Why have you come?"

"You are my brother, why would I not come?"

He glanced up at Elladan for a brief second and he blushed more deeply as he made his way out of the cold river. "Because I have done such wrong. I cannot bear…"

"You were sick, Estel. Legolas understands. We understand. We forgive you." Elrohir replied softly, drawing closer to him.

"I do not! I do not understand my own mind. I cannot trust it… I could turn on any one of you and knife you in your sleep. Does that not frighten you?"

"Yes." He whispered, and pulled him into a fierce, tight embrace and was then immediately pulled into another by his other brother. "That is why we are going to the Grey Mountains; Ada has found something, a dark force that lingers there and drives men to madness. You are not the first, and if we do not destroy it, you will not be the last."

Estel stumbled backward, out of his foster sibling's arms, wide eyed and shaken. "Go back? …no."

"We must, brother. We must find what caused this pain. They must be stopped."

"Find them? You do not find them; they find you. I went back! I went to those forsaken mountains and there was nothing. The whole place was… maddeningly silent. Nothing but goblins and orcs and rocks. I will not go back there." He argued, his voice pained and strangled. "I was glad of it; I do not want them to find me. You are out of your minds."

"There is no other way, Estel."

"No." He uttered. "I cannot."

He turned on the spot and bolted, breaking into a sprint away from the stunned twins. They quickly sped off after him, skipping through the long grass and heading back toward the borders of Mirkwood. Estel moved with startling agility and speed, dodging the trees and leaping over the fallen branches and uneven terrain as if he had passed this way a thousand times.

"I cannot return there!" He cried out as he ducked under a low bough as he moved into the darker, denser parts.

The twins parted and tried to outflank him, but could not match his speed and began to fall behind until eventually they lost sight of him. Estel continued to dart in between the great trunks, his lungs screaming. Glancing back in the rapidly fading light, he turned and began to head in a great circle, trying to make his way back to the river. The light was fading too fast to remain in these woods, they would trap him with ease, but if he could get back to the riverside, he could at least use the moonlight. If it came to it, he would risk the river. Nothing could make him go back there.

Suddenly he lay on the ground, dazed and winded. He had been struck from the side and was left reeling. Legolas came into view, his face angry and suspicious.


End file.
